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by Natimus Prime
Summary: The Boy Who Lived never had a happy home life. But if Vernon Dursley went out of his way to prevent the boy from turning out like his parents, things might be different. What is the power the Dark Lord knows not, and why can't Harry cast a spell? AltUni
1. The Boy Who Survived

Obligatory Standard Disclaimer: Characters and locations copyright J.K. Rowling, her publishers, et all. I'm merely borrowing her setting as a writing exercise, no profit is being made, and besides, if I was making money on this you would be paying to read it, wouldn't you? So settle in, enjoy the read, and don't do anything rash. 

Story Synopsis: The-Boy-Who-Lived never had a happy home life. But if Vernon Dursley decided to go out of his way to prevent the boy in his care from turning out like his parents, things just might be different. This story begins as an Alternate Universe, with the branch away from canon occurring when Harry is just five years old, during his first bout of accidental magic. As far as romantic relationships go, I will tend to stick with the canon pairings, but since I am mostly writing this on the fly, with no clear outline or plan, the fic may steer itself to an alternate scenario. My muse will go where it wills, and all I can say is that I'll be just as surprised as you are most of the time. Since we know Harry's eleventh birthday is on July 31, and that it was a Tuesday (the night they arrived onthe rock was a monday according to Dudley), the events of "the sorcerer's stone" are therefore in 1990, since that's the last time that date was correct. This indicates Harry Potter was born in 1979, and that Voldemort was defeated in 1980.

Chapter 1 - The-Boy-Who-Lived

July 31, 1982

"That boy is an abominable menace," growled the massive man sitting at the kitchen table of Number Four, Privet Drive. His face nearly purple with rage and frustration, Vernon Dursley scowled at his paper, trying not to think about his unwanted houseguest, and thus causing his thoughts to drift in that direction of their own accord.

The night before, his son Dudley had been taunting the boy with a slice of cake, offering it out only to laugh and snatch it away. Vernon's nephew, Harry Potter, had been near tears, which the boy admittedly deserved, but then Dudley's cake had suddenly burst into flames. Vernon had put out the fire before anything else could catch, but Dudley had suffered burned fingers. Paddling his nephew until he was near bleeding had taken some of the edge of the elder Dursley's anger, but something more permanent would be needed.

"I agree," added his wife, Petunia. "But he is still only a boy. No matter how unnatural he is, we can't simply throw him out on the streets. What would the neighbors say?" She handed him a plate of bacon and eggs, and sat down to eat some toast. Dudley was still asleep, as it was summer holidays and he was therefore allowed to stay up later.

Vernon scowled at his paper, then put it down to begin eating. "We obviously can't just beat the unnaturalness out of him," he grumbled, scooping a forkful of eggs into his mouth. After finishing the bite, he continued, "Isn't there some story about cold iron stopping this sort of nonsense?"

"There might be. I've not read much of those sorts of stories since Lily went to that horrible school."

Vernon suddenly sat bolt upright. "That's it, Petunia!"

"What, dear?"

"Those people must have some way of stopping this unnaturalness, to put away their criminals! We just have to find it."

Petunia looked thoughtful. "Mother took me along one of the days we went to get Lily's school supplies. I think I can still remember how to get there. But they use funny money, we might have some trouble finding what we need. And the place is crawling with...them."

Vernon frowned, but said, "It's worth the risk, if it'll burn this nonsense out of the boy for good. If he settles down and turns normal enough, maybe we can even move him out of that cupboard." He rubbed his chin, and stated, "We'll go tomorrow, leave the boy with that old bat Figg. Dudley can stay with one of his friends for the day."

Petunia nodded, a bit nervous, but prepared to face her worst fears. After all, the brat was still her blood, even if he was one of those freaks.

* * *

The next morning, Harry was dropped off with Misses Figg, Dudley went to a friend's house to play for the day, and Vernon and Petunia set off for London. Specifically, a dilapidated old pub named the Leakey Cauldron, and the alley behind it. Thanks to Petunia's half-forgotten memories, the two Muggles managed to get into the pub, and out the back into the alley. There, they were confronted by a brick wall. Petunia, with difficulty, managed to persuade one of the patrons to open the way for them, explaining that their Muggle son had just been accepted, quite unexpectedly, to the wizarding school, and they had been instructed to come here to pick up the neccessary supplies. The man just smiled, tapped the bricks with a stick, and offered to escort them to the wizard's bank to exchange their money for wizarding currency, though the book shop took regular Muggle money. 

"Flourish and Blott's takes care of most of the students' needs, so they don't mind taking Muggle money instead of real gold. They'll even change some of your extra for you, if you need."

Vernon tried desperately to maintain his facade of good cheer, and merely nodded. "Thank you, we're only getting books today. Our son is on a vacation with friends, so we shall pick up the rest another day."

The wizard smiled, nodded, and went back to his drink. Vernon scowled at him, and pulled Petunia closer. "Come along, dear, we should hurry."

They ducked though the crowd quickly, and found the bookstore. It was doing a brisk business, so Vernon slid into the store, and began quickly sorting through the sections to find something that would help him. At last, he stumbled across a rather dusty tome entitled: "History of Magical Persecution." The table of contents contained listings on all sorts of horrible things done to witches and wizards in the past. Figuring it would be a good bet, Vernon took the book to the counter.

"Oh my, I didn't realize we still had one of these," stated the clerk, looking rather surprised to see the book. "It's never sold very well, most people found it too graphic in nature."

"My son is doing and extra credit report on some historical events, and I was hoping this would help him. He's old enough to handle it." Vernon pulled out his wallet, recalling the names of various peices of wizard currency. "I'm short on Sickles and Galleons at the moment, would Muggle money be sufficient?"

"Oh, certainly." The exchange was made, and Vernon walked out with the book in a paper bag, collecting Petunia and making haste away from the horrible place.

* * *

Two weeks later, after reading with glee at the many ways his people had punished the abominations over the centuries, Vernon finally had something. "Here, Petunia, I think I've found it." He pointed out the relavent paragraph. 

Petunia read over the information, frowning. "Vernon, this is very...brutal. Are you sure?"

"It's the only way to lock it up permanently, dear. He'll be a perfectly normal boy after this. If he gets his act together, we might even start treating him that way." He frowned. "But it might take a bit to make it stick."

"If you're certain, dear. But don't do this where Dudley can see."

Vernon nodded. "I'll lock the boy in his cupboard until everything settles down. While Dudley's at school."

* * *

July 26th, 1990 

Harry Potter lay in his bed, scratching at his chest through his shirt. It was his birthday again in a bit less than a week, not that he expected anything to be different. Uncle Vernon had actually gotten him a small cake the year before, a bribe to get him to help Dudley with his homework. He had never really understood his Uncle's obsessive need for normalcy, or his other odd rules, but as Harry was a quiet boy, he mostly just stayed out of Uncle Vernon's way and did his chores. He cooked breakfast every morning, did the dishes, then went off to school with Dudley. He was not allowed to go anywhere without his long sleeved shirt, and Dudley had even beat up one of the boys who had tried to take away Harry's shirt on the playground. Dudley didn't like Harry, and Harry was not fond of Dudley, but at least his aunt and uncle were not locking him in the cupboard any more. Apparently, he'd done well enough to be moved into Dudley's spare bedroom as an early birthday present.

The bed was lumpy, and the room was still crowded with Dudley's things, which he wasn't allowed to touch except for the books, all of which he had read in the past month. At least it had a window. And the warm air from the radiator didn't make his chest hurt like the cold air in the cupboard. Harry sighed. He might not get any real presents for his upcoming birthday, but Uncle Vernon might buy him some new clothes that actually fit, instead of giving him Dudley's hand-me-downs.

Noting on the clock that it was almost six, he sighed, and got out of bed to start on breakfast. Uncle Vernon still hit him when he didn't finish breakfast on time, but not as hard as he used to. "Best to start early," Harry muttered, putting on his glasses and trudging down the stairs.

After putting the bacon in the pan to fry, and buttering the toast, Harry got a cloth and began scrubbing the floor around the table. Uncle Vernon had wanted him to weed the garden yesterday, and there hadn't been time to do some of his other chores. Fortunately, he wasn't being punished as harshly any more, and he would be allowed to make them up today.

As if summoned by the turn of Harry's thoughts, Vernon Dursley came down the stairs, wearing a robe over his pajamas. Harry looked up from his work, and went to check the bacon. "Good Morning, Uncle. You're up early today."

Vernon grunted, and took a seat at the table. Not quite glaring at his young charge, he replied, "No business of yours, boy. And hurry up with breakfast."

"Yes, Uncle. I can have your eggs done shortly, but the bacon will take a bit longer." Harry immediately pulled out three eggs, cracked them into the frying pan, and added the precise doses of salt and pepper Vernon liked. Turning the eggs once, he slid them onto a plate, placed two slices of toast on one side, and checked the bacon. It was not quite finished, so he put the plate before his uncle, and turned back to the stove. Hearing the click of utensils on plate, Harry let out a very quiet sigh of relief. The bacon was done, and he placed three slices on Vernon's plate without a sound, putting the rest onto the other two plates he was preparing for his aunt and cousin. He also placed a cup of coffee near Vernon's plate, careful not to spill a drop. After preparing a slice of toast for himself, Harry sat quietly on his stool, doing his best to appear as though he was not there. Apparently he did well, because Vernon finished his plate, drank the last of the coffee, and got up from the table. Harry finished his toast, and went quietly to get the morning paper.

All in all, a perfectly ordinary start to a perfectly ordinary day at Number Four, Privet Drive.

* * *

That afternoon, Harry had to carry a tub of dye out to the back porch to get some of Dudley's old clothes the right color for his uniform at Stonewall High, the local public school he would be attending. As it was sunday, all the Durselys were home for lunch, and Harry had eaten his sandwich quietly on his stool at the counter. Dudley was wearing his new Smeltings school uniform, and had been poking Harry with his Smelting stick through most of the day. Glad for any chance to get away, Harry went to the door, and sorted through the mail quickly, so he would not have to bother his uncle with junk. As he did so, he came across an odd letter. It had a wax seal on the back, and was addressed to him in flowing script written with green ink. 

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Smallest Bedroom_

_Number Four, Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

Handing over the stack of legitimate mail to his uncle (a bill and a postcard from Vernon's sister Marge), Harry kept the letter addressed to him, and went to his stool to open it. Dudley, never one to miss an opportunity to tease, pointed to Harry and said, "Hey, Harry's got a letter!"

Vernon glanced over, and harrumphed, though he didn't otherwise react. "Who'd be writing to you, boy?"

Harry hesitated. "I don't know, Uncle. But it does have my name on the envelope." He held it out, showing clearly that it was indeed addressed to him.

"Open it, then. And read it out loud." Vernon frowned. "Have you done anything odd at school?"

"No, sir," Harry replied as he opened the letter, careful not to damage it. "One of the teachers mentioned that Dudley's homework was very similar to mine, and asked if I had been helping him." Dudley looked afraid. "I told him that was silly, and that Dudley was the one helping me." The other boy relaxed again, secure in the knowledge that his poor study habits had not been revealed.

Harry had the parchment unfolded now, and began to read the letter aloud, eyes wide.

"Dear Mr. Potter,\ We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry." Harry's face was white, while Vernon's was turning a sickly green. "Please find enclosed a list of all neccessary books and equipment.\ Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.\ Yours sincerely,\ Minerva McGonagall\ Deputy Headmistress."

The two elder Durselys gaped at Harry, who continued to re-read the letter. After another time through, he chuckled thinly and turned to Dudley, who simply looked confused. "This is a good joke, Dudley. Who'd you put up to mailing this?"

Dudley simply looked at him stupidly and opened his mouth to say he hadn't, when Vernon Dursley clapped his hand over his son's mouth and quickly said, "That's very good of you to try and cheer up your cousin, Dudley, but you shouldn't give him ideas. There's no such thing as wizards, or witches."

Harry nodded. "It's fine, Stonewall High won't be too bad." He chuckled. "But an owl? Who ever heard of an owl taking the post?"

But the Durselys weren't laughing.

* * *

That evening, as Harry was coming down to help with dinner, he overheard his aunt and uncle talking in the kitchen.

"Should never have let him open the bloody letter." That was his uncle's deep voice, trembling with rage and a hint of fear.

"But what will we do now?" whined his aunt's thin, screechy voice. "Should we write back that he won't be going?"

Vernon was quiet, then began to chortle. "Wouldn't matter if he went or not. We know he's got nothing to learn there, don't we? Put an end to that nosense when he was three, so I did. He won't end up like those crazy parents of his."

Harry's hand went to his chest. Vernon had never really explained what had happened to him when he'd asked about it on his sixth birthday, only that he'd had an accident. Harry had always assumed it was the same car accident his parents had died in, though that had never quite seemed right somehow.

Vernon continued, "So we won't say anything. They'll know he got the letter, and if he says nothing they'll figure he won't be attending. And he doesn't know anything about it, so he won't question."

Harry turned away, going quickly and quietly back to his room. So the letter HADN'T been a joke! There really was a magic school out there, and they wanted him to come!

"Oh," Harry mused aloud. "Uncle Vernon would never pay for it, even if I could do magic. Nothing odd ever happens around me, so how could I have magic at all?" He chuckled. "Well, unless you count the times Dudley's saved me from being beat up. I mean, everyone knows he doesn't like me, but he's the only one who's allowed to hit me. So really, I'm back where I started, with the letter being a joke, and still going to Stonewall." He sighed, and elected to make some more noise when he went down the stairs this time, to alert his uncle and aunt. If they knew he'd heard them, he'd be in real trouble!

* * *

The next day, there were another three letters, addressed in the same manner, laying on the stack of mail. Harry opened one by the door, noted that it was identical to the last letter, and folded it back up. He gave the rest of the mail to his Uncle, and noted, "Whoever's working this prank is very persistant. There were three of them today." He tossed all three of the letters in the trash, noting the frown on Vernon's face. "If this keeps up, we'll be flooded in them by the end of the week."

Dudley simply stared, then abruptly seemed to remember he was supposed to be the one doing the prank. "Err, yeah. I'll see if I can get them to knock it off, now you're on to them. But they're really hard to get hold of."

Harry simply nodded, and finished his sandwich.

* * *

The next day, no fewer than four letters were shoved through the mail slot, and a few were stuck around the edges of the door as well. Harry angrily tore one of them open, saw it was indeed the same, and said, "That does it." He grabbed a pen from the kitchen, storming past a stunned Vernon, and turned over one of the sheets of parchment. "I have no magic. You have made a mistake, and I can't afford private school. Please stop sending these letters. Harry Potter." He then strode out the door, and turned to a nearby tree. There, perched in the branches, were at least a dozen owls. "Here, one of you lot knows how to find this Hogwarts, right?" A barn owl fluttered down to perch on a bush. "Here's my reply, now off with the lot of you. And don't come back tomorrow."

Harry turned back to the house, where Vernon and Petunia stood, stunned. "What? You said it yourself yesterday, there's no such thing as magic. Maybe it'll put a stop to this."

Vernon stammered, "But... You mean you don't want to go?"

Harry sighed. "What's the point? I know you wouldn't pay for it, and it's not as if I have money. I'd just get thrown out in a couple days, and go to Stonewall high." He gathered up the rest of the letters, and threw them in the trash. "You're always saying I shouldn't daydream, so why start now?"

* * *

July 31st, 1990

Four more days passed. Nothing unusual happened, no odd letters, nothing. Harry was beginning to hope things had gone back to normal, and just in time for his birthday. As expected, he hadn't gotten any other presents, but getting out of the cupboard was gift enough for him. He had finished dyeing Dudley's clothes the day before, and in an effort to make them fit better, he had gotten a needle and thread from his Aunt. He was sewing new hems on the pants when there was a knock at the door. Vernon was at work for the morning, Petunia was having a bath, and Dudley was watching television in his room, from the sound of things. Harry sighed, and went to the door.

On the other side was a tall, severe looking woman in an emerald green cloak over an emerald green blouse and long black dress. She smiled ever so faintly, and held up a piece of parchement Harry recognized. "Mister Potter, I presume?" At Harry's answering nod, she said, "I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts. May I speak with you for a moment?"

Harry affected a mask of wide-eyed surprise. "You mean Dudley wasn't just playing a prank on me?"

McGonagall looked surprised herself. "A prank? You mean you were not informed about your parents, or your past?"

"Informed of what? My parents died in a car accident." Harry had a feeling this was a lie, and the scandalized look on McGonagall's face proved it.

"A car crash?! Is that what they told you?" At Harry's nod, the woman's face turned dark and angry. "I told Dumbledore this was a bad idea when we left you here. But no, he insited that blood bonds would be enough!" She composed herself, and turned to Harry. "I am sorry, Mister Potter. You should have been informed of this long ago. Are your guardians home?"

"Aunt Petunia is in the bath, Miss. Uncle Vernon is at work today, he has a meeting about a large order of drills." Harry stepped back. "If you'd like, you could wait inside. I'll fetch some tea. But please be quiet, Dudley hates to be disturbed while he's watching television."

"Tea would be most welcome, thank you. I believe I need something to calm my nerves." McGonagall stepped in, hanging her cloak on the coat tree near the door. Harry put a full kettle on the stove, and went back out to the sitting room. Professor McGonagall was seated, waiting for him. "Please, Mister Potter, have a seat. We have much to discuss, you and I." Harry sat on a nearby footstool, the only piece of furniture he was allowed to use. McGonagall pursed her lips, but said nothing.

"First, your parents. Lily and James Potter were students of mine when they were your age. A finer witch and wizard you would be hard pressed to find. However, when you were just an infant, there was a terribly powerful Dark Wizard causing havoc in the magical community. His name was, ah" and here she hesitated, looking a bit frightened, "Voldemort. You must understand, people still fear him even today, ten years after his disappearance. We do not usually speak his name. At any rate, your parents were being targeted by him, and ten years ago, they were murdered by a very powerful curse. And then, he tried to do the same to you, but somehow, it did not work. The curse rebounded, leaving you with your scar." Harry reached up to rub the lightning-bolt on his forehead, then scratched his itching chest.

"So they really were magic, then?"

"They were extremely talented. Truely two of the best students in their generation." McGonagall smiled. "Your father was a horrible prankster, of course, and it wasn't until their last year that your mother finally calmed him down." A thin whistle could be heard, and Harry went to fetch the teakettle. Pouring two cups, he handed one to the woman across from him, who smiled as she took a sip. "At any rate, your name has been written on the rolls at Hogwarts for ten years, ever since you're parents were lost, waiting for you to come of age. In point of fact, you are a very famous young man. Everyone in the magical community knows your name."

Harry smiled slightly at that, then frowned as he remembered. "But Uncle Vernon would never pay for me to go. That's why he's sending me to the public high school."

McGonagall stifled a laugh. "I wouldn't worry about that, young man. Your tuition has been payed for already, as part of your parents' will. Your supplies are likewise payed for, all you need to do is go and get them."

Just then, Harry heard a door slam upstairs. "Oh no, Dudley."

Indeed, the pudgy blonde boy was thundering down the stairs, and immediately spotted Harry and his guest. "Oi! What do you think you're doing, letting strange people in the house! I'm telling Mum!"

Harry jumped to his feet, but Dudley had already gone. "Drat. Now I'll be in for it."

A damp looking but dressed Petunia came down the stairs, followed closely by a smug Dudley. "Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" Petunia demanded.

McGonagall pursed her lips, looking stern. "I am here as a representative of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to discuss the response I recieved from Mister Potter. He has obviously not been informed of his past as you were instructed to do."

Petunia looked fearful, but quickly covered it with a mask of superiority. "My husband and I swore a vow to put an end to that nonsense. And if you hadn't noticed, we succeeded. Harry Potter is a perfectly ordinary boy, not a freak like you."

McGonagall stood. "How dare you! If it were not for the laws that forbid dueling with Muggles, I would give you the most unsightly curse I have in my repitoire!" She drew a thin wooden wand from her robes, and turned to Harry. "Collect your things, Mister Potter. It is obvious that this place is not condusive to your learning about your heritage, and I am using my authority as Deputy Headmistress to invoke the Statute of Secrecy's 'Underaged Wizard Protection' clause. You will reside at a safe, wizarding location for the remainder of the summer, and we will discuss your future living arrangements with the Headmaster and the Ministry of Magic." As Harry stared in shock, she continued. "I will also take the liberty of modifying the memories of these two Muggles, under the Statute of Secrecy, in order to prevent them from spreading word of our existance. You have nothing to worry about."

Harry stood for a moment more, then ran up to his room. His few belongings went rapidly into a spare steamer trunk, which he then hauled down the stairs. "I'm ready, Professor McGonagall."

"Very good, Mister Potter. Now, your Aunt and cousin will remember that they were visited by the Deputy Headmistress, who offered a full scholarship to you based on the contents of your parents' will, on the condition that you be moved to the school year round so that you may recieve extra tutoring to make up for your deficit in learning. Your Aunt eagerly accepted to get you out of the house permanently, and your cousin was happy to hear that he got his other bedroom back."

And having said this, she flicked her wand, and both Dursleys stood a bit slackjawed as the magic took hold of them. Then, Petunia scowled at Harry, saying, "Well, aren't you finished now? Get out!"

Staring in awe, Harry pulled his trunk out the door, McGonagall following closely behind him, pausing only to collect her cloak. Once they were safely outside, McGonagall sighed. "I'm sorry you had to put up with them for so long, Mister Potter. If I had known, I would have done this much sooner."

"That's all right, Professor. They've really been much nicer to me recently." Harry idly scratched at his chest again.

McGonagall looked horrified. "You mean they were WORSE than that?"

"I used to live in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said, unconcerned. After all, it was normal for him, even if he didn't like it. "Uncle Vernon decided a little while ago that I'd finally started cleaning up my act enough to have a real room. Said I'd turned out normal after all." He frowned. "It didn't make sense before, when he used to say that, but now it does."

"Well, that is all behind you now, young man. The underaged wizard protection clause allows us to transfer all of your assets and legal guardianship from the muggles to a family of magical folk. Although in your situation, as start of term is close, you will simply remain a ward of Hogwarts until next summer, when a full inquiry can be made." She placed a hand on Harry's shoulder, smiling. "Just you wait. Even if you can't do any magic at all, at least you won't be around those horrible people any more. And I think you have a lot more potential than you realize." Harry just nodded. Then, McGonagall held out her wand, saying, "Best step back now, Mister Potter. I'm taking you somewhere it will be safe to contact the Headmaster."

With a loud bang, a brilliant purple triple-decker bus appeared, nearly running over the pair of them. McGonagall straightened her cloak over her shoulders and said, "Welcome to the world of Magic, Harry Potter."

* * *

After a wild ride on the strange bus, which McGonagall informed him was called the Knight Bus, Harry found himself stepping off in front of the dingiest pub he'd ever seen. Strangely, his eyes seemed to want to slide away from it, as though it weren't there. "Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron. It is safe enough for us to call the Headmaster and inform him of what has happened." So saying, she went to the barman, and said, "I need to borrow one of your rooms for a few hours, Tom. Do you have one to spare? Official business."

"Sure, Professor. Room 203's empty, here's the key." The old man handed over a small silver key, which McGonagall took. Turning, she motioned with her wand for Harry to bring his trunk, and strode off for the stairs. Harry lugged his trunk behind him, noting that it was a tiny bit lighter than before. When the pair was safely locked inside the small but fire-warmed room, McGonagall took a bag of powder and threw a pinch of it's contents in the fire. The flames turned green, and she said clearly, "Headmaster Dumbledore's Office." There was a brief flare, and she stuck her head into the flames, saying, "Headmaster, I need to speak with you about Mister Potter."

Harry was shocked when the flames roared, and out stepped a tall, older gentleman dressed in a lavender robe with half-moon spectacles on his long, crooked nose. His eyes twinkled as he said, "Well hello, Harry Potter. A pleasure to meet you once again."

Harry smiled nervously. "Err, hello, sir." After a moment, he asked, "Have we met before?"

"When you were rescued from your parents' burning home, I was there to leave you with your new family." His smile dimmed just a bit. "Though the fact you are no longer with them indicates something is wrong. What has happened, Minerva?"

"Those horrible muggles have been keeping Mister Potter's past a secret from him! You saw the response he sent to his Hogwarts letter! I told you leaving him with those people was a poor decision!" McGonagall was livid, just a hair's breadth from yelling at the older Headmaster.

"Surely there has just been a misunderstanding," he replied, trying to calm his upset faculty member.

"Misunderstanding?! Albus, he was living in a CUPBOARD for nine years!" McGonagall ranted, now actually yelling. "That horrid woman admitted to beating him whenever he put the slightest toe out of line!"

"I was doing better!" Harry protested. "Uncle vernon hasn't hit me in almost a week!"

"You see?" McGonagall crowed. "He thinks it's normal! Even a muggle court would pull him out of that place and arrest his aunt and uncle! In fact, I suspect the only reason they haven't is that you never complain, do you Mister Potter?"

"Err, no." Harry affected a depressed look. If these people could get him away from the Dursleys for good, he'd help. "No one would believe me anyway. Uncle Vernon's a very powerful man in the neighborhood, he convinced the neighbors to think I'm a criminal delinquent he's trying to reform. No one pays any attention to me except Ms. Figg."

"That's horrible!" McGonagall exclaimed. She turned to Dumbledore. "I couldn't leave him there another minute, Albus! He's a hero! At the very least, he deserves to be treated like a human being!"

Dumbledore's eyes had lost their twinkle. Features drooping, he said only, "I had reasons for putting him there, Minerva. So long as he lived with his Aunt, who shares his blood, no one with ill intentions could enter his home. He was safe from any evil there."

"Except the evil he lived with day after day!" McGonagall huffed. "I've already done the memory charm, Albus. I invoked the 'underaged wizard protection' clause in the statute of secrecy. We both know his parents wanted him to come, it's part of their will. The muggles, guardians or not, cannot prevent him from coming, and they were going to do so."

"Err, actually," Harry stammered, blushing, "I thought it was a prank Dudley was pulling, sending those letters. I sent that reply because I was tired of getting the same letter so many times. Sorry, Professor."

Dumbledore gently lifted Harry's chin, to look him in the eye. "You mean to say that you have never had any odd ocurrances while you were upset or afraid? No reason to think you were odd or different?"

"No sir. Other than my scar, which is explainable, nothing strange ever happens to me. I don't even dream, most nights." Harry looked away. "I doubt I even have magic."

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "As Minerva has doubtless told you, there is more to being a wizard than magic. You may just need to be in the proper environment." He nodded. "We shall arrange for you to stay here at the Leaky Cauldron until the start of term. One of the professors will be available at all times, of course, but you should not go out without an escort, especially into Diagon Alley. You are a very famous young man, and it would be best if you kept a low profile."

"Of course," Harry agreed. "If I'm as famous as you say, I'd never get any peace once people knew I was here. And I've come to like my quiet, private lifestyle."

Dumbledore chuckled. "I suppose you have. If nothing else, the Dursleys have given you wisdom beyond your years." He turned to his associate. "Minerva, Hagrid will be stopping by on an errand for me in an hour or two. I would like you to remain with Mister Potter for a while longer, until Hagrid arrives with young Harry's Gringots vault key. Then, I would like you to fill out a complete report for the Ministry. For now, I shall bid you both farewell. There is still much to be done before the start of term."

With that, he bowed his way into the fire, saying, "Headmaster's Room, Hogwarts!"

McGonagall shook her head, sighed, and turned to Harry. "Well then, Mister Potter, I'm sure there is more you wish to know. Why don't you ask me?"

* * *

Harry spent the next hour pleasantly conversing with Professor McGonagall on a variety of subjects, including the nature of magic, a brief history of the war with Voldemort, and a bit about wizard culture. Harry was astonished to learn that most of the muggle technology was ignored by wizards. When he asked if a wizard had ever gone to the moon, the response surprised him.

"Of course not, Mister Potter. It's much too far away to Apparate, and besides, what would be the purpose?"

Harry tried not to sound smug when he replied, "The Americans put a man on the moon twenty years ago. Strapped three muggles into a steel can on top of a giant rocket, shot them into space, and brought them home again."

"Really?" Professor McGonagall looked very surprised. "Muggles?"

"Then they did it again, five more times. It would have been six, but one of the missions had a breakdown and they barely got the men back again." Harry shrugged. "Everybody learns about it in grade school. I figured if a bunch of ordinary folk pulled it off, why shouldn't a wizard?"

"I...see." McGonagall looked slightly preturbed at that. "Perhaps we have more to learn from Muggles than some wizards like to think."

Just then, there was a loud banging on the door. "Professor, it's me, Hagrid. Ah'm here ter see ta Harry."

The door opened, revealing the largest man Harry had ever seen, wearing a moleskin coat with his face mostly obscured by bushy black hair and beard. As he looked on, Hagrid stepped in, stuffing a small bag into one of his pockets. "Brough' Harry's key wit me. 'S'all righ 'ere." He smiled down at Harry, and added, "Good ter see yeh again, Harry! Last I saw yeh, yeh weren't but a year old."

Harry managed not to stammer as he replied, "Nice to meet you, Hagrid."

McGonagall stood. "Well, if you have everything in order, I have a report to file. Good day to you both." And she took a pinch of Floo powder, threw it in the fire, and said, "Hogwarts Great Hall!"

Once the flames died down, Harry turned to Hagrid. "Shall we be off then? I imagine we've got a lot to do."

"Aye, tha' we do." As Hagrid led the way down the stairs, he said, "So I take it yeh've heard the whole story from Professor McGonagall, eh?"

"Pretty much, yeah," Harry replied. "I still don't think I'm much of a wizard, but I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

"If'n yer anythin' like yer mum and da, yeh'll just be needin' a bit o' practice. Yer da was in my year, couldn't so much as lift 'is feather in Charms the first month, but he got better right quick." Hagrid chuckled, a sound reminiscent of an avalanche. "Don' worry abou' tha', or abou' not knowin' things. Plenny o' muggle-born kids comin' in ev'ry year, don' know up from down, and some o' them's the best in their class."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hagrid."

"Don' mention it." They came to a brick wall in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron. "Here we are, now..." Hagrid pulled out a tattered pink umbrella, and tapped one of the bricks three times. A hole rapidly opened in the solid wall, revealing a bustling street. "Welcome ter Diagon Alley!"

Harry stared around, trying to take it all in. Hagrid smiled, then said, "First stop is Gringotts, ter get yeh inter yer vault for some money." He led the way to a large building with bronze doors, and a short, ugly looking goblin in a scarlet and gold uniform. Harry did his best not to stare. After entering, they went to the long counter, where a goblin was busily scratching away at a ledger. Hagrid cleared his throat and announced, "We've come ter take some money from Mister Harry Potter's vault."

The goblin glanced up at them. "You have his key, sir?"

"Got it here somewhere." Hagrid rummaged in his coat, and produced a small golden key after dislodging a pair of dormice.

"That seems to be in order," the goblin said in a bored voice.

Hagrid's brow furrowed, then he brightened. "Ah, an' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore," he said, throwing out his chest. "It's about the You-Know-Wha' in vault seven 'undred an' thirteen."

After reading the letter carefully, the goblin responded. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!" Another goblin came striding up to escort them.

As they followed, Harry asked curoiusly, "What's in vault seven hundred and thirteen?"

"Can' tell yeh tha'," Hagrid repiled mysteriously. "Hogwarts business. Top secret. Dumbledore's trustin' me a lot ter run this errand for 'im. More'n me job's worth ter tell yeh tha'."

Harry let the matter drop, as they arrived at another door. Behind this one was a stone corridor, and a set of railway tracks. At Griphook's whistle, a cart came hurtling toward them, stopping just short of running over the small goblin. After they had all climbed in, the cart streaked through a series of twisty passages, eventually stopping at a small door in the passage wall. Hagrid climbed out, looking a bit worse for wear. Griphook, however, strode to the door, and unlocked it.

After the gout of green smoke cleared away, Harry looked in to see mounds of gold, silver, and bronze scattered about the chamber. It was an incredible fortune. No wonder McGonagall hadn't been worried about how he would pay for school. Harry took the small sack Hagrid held out to him, then stopped as a thought struck him. There was only money, no possessions or papers. Turning to Griphook, he asked, "Er, is this the vault my parents used, sir?"

Griphook shook his head. "No sir. The Potter Estate vault is being held in trust until you come of age. This is a small portion of it, set aside for your expenses during school. If you should empty this vault, it will be refilled at the discretion of the executor of the estate."

Harry desperately tried to wrap his mind around that. "So what you're saying is, this isn't all the money I have access to? My parents had a seperate vault that this one is linked to?"

"That is a reasonable assessment, sir." Griphook looked bored.

"Thank you. Would it be possible to meet with the executor later? I would like to see if my parents might have left journals or photographs in their vault. I have nothing left of them, you know." Harry began filling the bag, secure in the knowledge that he had a much larger fortune waiting a few years down the road. Deciding to ration the vault into eight equal shares, he took a moment to ask the exact counts of various level of coinage, and their exchange rates with wizard and muggle money, and ended up walking out with several pounds of the vault's contents in a charmed moneybag. Hagrid raised an eyebrow at this.

"Why so much, Harry? Firs' years don' have much ter spend on, yeh know. Stuck in the castle mos' o' the time."

Harry gave the tall man an enigmatic smile. "True, but I'd like to own some clothes that fit. Plus, it's my birthday, and I don't have to live at the Dursleys' any more. I'm going to get my first real birthday present today." Then, chuckling at the horror-stricken expression on Hagrid's face, he added, "Uncle Vernon let me have a piece of cake last year, the first thing he ever gave me for my birthday. A month ago, he moved me out of the cupboard under the stairs to Dudley's second bedroom, but that's hardly a present. So I'm going to get something nice for myself, to celebrate a new start."

Fat tears rolled down Hagrids cheeks as he snuffled. "I'm so sorry ter hear tha' Harry. If I'da known wha' horrible people those muggles was, I'da never le' Dumbledore leave yeh there."

Harry sighed, and patted the big man's arm. "It's all right, Hagrid. It's over now, and I've got a year at Hogwarts to look forward to, right?"

Hagrid straightened up, and sniffed. "Righ' yeh are, Harry. Come on, I'll get yeh a present too, once we're done."

Another wild cart ride later, they came to another door. Griphook gave the door a caress with one finger, and it opened, revealing a large vault with a tiny buglap bag in one corner. Hagrid pocketed this quickly, and the trio hurried to the surface.

Blinking as they came back into the sunlight, Hagrid said, "Now, why don't you head to Madame Malkin's and pick up your school robes?" He flushed, and added in a whisper, "I'm gonna sneak off ter the Leaky Cauldron fer a pick-me-up. Those carts always make my head spin." Harry nodded, smiling, and Hagrid wobbled off, a bit green.

Harry stepped into the shop, and was greeted by a short witch. "Hogwarts, dear? I've got the whole lot up front. There's another lad being fitted now, but I'll handle you."

She had Harry stand on a stool, and as she bustled about, the pale-haired boy sneered at him. "Off to Hogwarts, are you?"

"Er, yeah." Harry immediately decided he didn't like this boy's attitude.

"Father is next door getting my books, and Mother is looking at wands," the boy continued. "After that, I think I'll have a look at the racing brooms. It's a crime that first years aren't allowed brooms. Perhaps I'll bully Father into smuggling one in for me." Turning, he asked haughtily, "Do you have a broom?"

Harry frowned. "No. We live too close to the local muggles to not be seen."

That got the boy's attention. "You're not a mudblood, are you?"

Harry frowned even more. That word left a bad taste in his mouth, though he didn't know why. Fortunately, Madame Malkin interrupted him, saying, "You're all finished, dear." Harry paid, and left quickly.

Hagrid had evidently taken longer over his 'pick-me-up' than he'd planned, because he was lumbering down the alley at a quick gait, waving as he spotted Harry. Together, they moved on to the apothecary, picking up supplies. Harry bought a sturdy pair of dragonhide gloves and a similar pair of boots, both with brass fittings. The items were quite expensive, and took a large chunk of his moneybag, so at Hagrid's questioning look, Harry said, "If I slop something dangerous, I'd rather not melt off my hands or feet. My robes ought to last long enough to get them off, but bare skin is trickier." Hagrid nodded sagely, and they moved on. At Flourish and Blott's, Harry bought all of his textbooks, then asked after a set for the next year's books as well. Browsing, he then got several history books, including a few on the war with Voldemort, a copy of Hogwarts: A History, and anything else that looked interesting. "If I've got a month to spend in a hotel room, I'm going to spend it studying what I can," was the repsonse of his practical mind. Stopping at Eeylop's Owlry, Hagrid purchased a beautiful Snowy Owl for Harry as a birthday present, waving off Harry's thanks. "Only one more stop ter go. Gotta get yeh a wand. I'll wait out here, my head's still spinnin' a bit from the carts."

Stepping into Olivander's gave Harry a sudden chill sensation in his chest. When the short man with the thick glasses stepped out from the racks, he said, "Ah, Harry Potter. I've been expecting you. You are here for a wand, I presume?"

"Er, yes. What do I have to do?"

"Well, I always say it's the wand that chooses the wizard." He pulled a cream colored box off the shelf. Inside was a long wooden rod on a red velvet cushion. "Here we are, oak and dragon heartstring, nine inches, sturdy and accurate. Just give it a wave."

Harry did, feeling a bit foolish, but Olivander snatched it away. "No no, that will never do. Here, try this one."

things continued in this vein for some time, until it seemed Harry would NEVER find his wand. Olivander looked cheerful though, and smiled. "I've never had quite such a difficult customer. Here, try this. Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather. A rare combination, but quite powerful."

Harry waved the wand, and a thin stream of dull red sparks extended from the wand. It was the only response he'd gotten from any of the wands yet. Olivander frowned. "Interesting that you should get a reaction from that one, when its brother gave you your scar." Ignoring Harry's intake of breath, he went on to add, "There are no other wands left that would be suitable, but if that is the best we can get..." Trailing off, he stared at a single box, sitting all alone on its shelf. Unlike the other boxes, this one was made entirely of dull gray metal. Harry looked at it, and suddenly felt a warm sensation on his chest.

"Mister Potter," said Olivander in a hushed, almost fearful voice, "Please retrieve that box for me."

Harry did, wondering why Olivander hadn't gotten it himself. Picking up the box, it was light in his hands, and much warmer than he expected. Carrying it to Olivander, he missed the sad look on the old man's face. Olivander's voice was grave as he spoke. "Mister Potter. Open the box."

Gently lifting off the metal cover, Harry found another wand laying on red velvet. But unlike the other wands, this one was made not of wood, but of a dull gray metal. Picking up the wand, he heard a sharp intake of breath from Olivander. Experimentally, he waved the wand.

A thick cloud of bright white and red sparks flew out of the end of the wand, momentarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, he saw Olivander smiling sadly at him. "Er, did I do it right, Mr. Olivander?"

"That wand is yours, Mister Potter. No other will ever be able to use it, or take it from you." Olivander spoke as though at a funeral. A glimmer of tears shone in his eyes, but he did not shed them. "It is the very last of its kind ever made, and I am glad I was not the one who made it. You will do great things, Mister Potter, of that I have no doubt. But for that wand to have chosen you, you must also have suffered great hardship. Take it, and the phoenix feather wand as well. And I'll not have a knut from you for either."

Harry was dumbfounded. Finding his voice, he stammered, "B-but why? What's so special about this wand?"

Olivander gave him a very small smile, filled with concern. "That wand is made of pure iron, Mister Potter, and over one thousand years old. In all that time, none, not even I, have been able to hold it. As I did not make it, it is of no charge to you. But take heed," his voice rose, commanding and powerful, "an iron wand is dangerous. You would do better to use the other wand until you gain more control of your magic. Let none of your classmates see your iron wand, nor touch it. Not even your teachers should so much as see the box." His voice and expression softened. "There is much danger in a normal wizard handling the shield that holds the wand, let alone the wand itself. You will know when the time is right to unseal it again."

Harry nodded, shaken. He put the wand back in its box, and Olivander handed him another cream colored box, this one empty, to hide the gray box. Setting the phoenix feather and holly wand atop it, Olivander smiled. Harry got up the nerve to ask, "Mr. Olivander, if you did not make the other wand, who did?"

Olivander smiled. "A wise wizard, a prophet, who is widely regarded as one of the most powerful wizards ever. Merlin himself made that wand, Mister Potter." And with that, he ushered a frozen Harry out of the shop to Hagrid.

"Two wands?" Hagrid asked.

Olivander nodded. "The boy is marked, and not just by his scar. I would appreciate you keeping this quiet, but this is not the first time in recent years I have given out two wands to a student. The second is identical to the first, since Mister Potter may not have time to return for a repair." He chuckled. "We know he has powerful enemies. Having a spare wand will surprise them."

Hagrid smiled. "Yer righ' abou' tha'. If he's still around, You-Know-Who wouldn' give the lad time ta fix 'is wand. Thanks, Mr. Olivander."

"Oh, no trouble. Now, I expect you have other things to do, Mister Potter?"

Harry, sensing this was his dismissal, nodded. "I am rather hungry. Let's get something to eat, Hagrid."

Olivander sighed as the two walked away. Unheard by Harry or Hagrid, he whispered, "Good luck, young man. You are going to need it."

* * *

Author's Notes:

So, another Harry Potter story on the web? Not like there aren't thousands of others, I suppose. If you're wondering why Harry's life is so similar to his old one, remember that it's still early yet, and I had to set up a few things for later. As for the differences, this universe is divergent from canon as of Harry's third birthday. It's a long way back, but the ripples need time to build into a tsunami.

The importance of the iron wand, and why Harry has it, may need a few chapters to come into play. As this is a rewrite of book one, expect several scenes to be similar to their canon counterparts, but also expect divergences, as I intend to write this from memory rather than copying the text directly out of the novel. Relationships, for those who care about such things, are going to be more or less as in canon, but things may not be the same, depending on how my muse takes me.

Being slightly more acceptable to the Dursleys, coupled with and because of the total lack of stange happenings around him, has encouraged Harry to become more normal, and to try harder to make himself acceptable to his guardians. He doesn't particularly like them, but if he's going to be stuck with them he's going to make the best of it. So he is slightly more studious than usual, hoping that if he at least does well in school he will have a chance to prove he is worth something.

If this ever gets to the web, I intend to have at least a few chapters done before I post it, so these notes will be redundant. For now, just read the next chapter, and it may answer some of your questions. Flames will be ignored, as I write purely for my own enjoyment, and I couldn't care less what you think. If you have constructive help, either catching grammar flaws or plot holes, then by all means let me know, but be polite about it, 'kay?


	2. Magical Mishaps

Obligatory Standard Disclaimer: Characters and locations copyright J.K. Rowling, her publishers, et all. I'm merely borrowing her setting as a writing exercise, no profit is being made, and besides, if I was making money on this you would be paying to read it, wouldn't you? So settle in, enjoy the read, and don't do anything rash. 

Chapter 02 - Magical Mishaps

Arriving back at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry set his textbooks on a handy desk, his cauldron and potion ingredients on the floor by the window, and the cage with his owl went on the nightstand. Hagrid nodded to him with a smile, saying, "Now, term don' start 'till the firs' o' September, so yeh've got a month ter study up an' prepare. I've got work ter do at Hogwarts, but Professor McGonagall or I'll come by ter check on yeh ev'ry couple days, alrigh'? If yeh need ta get hold of us fer sommat, jus' send yer owl with a note. I've already paid Tom ter keep yeh here and feed yeh supper, but other than tha' yer on yer own."

Harry smiled. "Thanks, Hagrid. I'll try and stay out of trouble."

Hagrid grinned. "An' make sure yeh stay inside after dark. You-Know-Who's still got folk about who'd love ter get their hands on yeh."

"I'll be careful, Hagrid. Now go on, you've got to give that package to Professer Dumbledore, right?" Harry turned to his owl, opening the door on the cage so she could get some exercise if she chose.

"Righ' yeh are. Be seein' yeh, Harry!" Hagrid strode out of the room, his heavy footfalls echoing down the stairs and out of Harry's hearing.

Harry turned to the stack of books. Pulling out "Hogwarts: A History," he lay down on the four-poster bed and began to read.

* * *

The rest of the month was spent in similar fashion. Harry would wake up around eight, and go down the stairs to get breakfast from one of the muggle shops outside the Alley. The prices on the food at the Leaky Cauldron were fairly cheap, but the food was also of mediocre quality. Harry himself could cook better. So he simply picked up things to eat from the market around the corner, and made his own dinner and tea in his new cauldron over the fire in the fireplace.

At one point, he made an effort to explore every shop in the alley. While he wandered the street, he found another side-passage, leading to a slightly more run-down area. Above the passage was a battered sign reading "Knockturn Alley". Harry had the hood of his robes up to help him hide his scar, so nobody really looked at him. A few shops down, he came across a used bookstore, which was not only disorganized, but contained several books he didn't recognize from Flourish and Blott's. He made several purchases, and now had enough books that he had to see about getting a larger trunk to hold them all.

The shop Harry discovered a short way down the side street, "Lockdown's Luggage," had all sorts of trunks, including one which had seven compartments, and another that had only four, but was twice the price of the seven-compartment trunk. He turned to the shop owner, Mr. Lockdown himself, who looked bored and disdainful, and asked the man, "Why so much for the four-compartment trunk?"

The Lockdown looked him over, and asked, "That depends. Can you afford one?"

Harry checked the price on the trunk, and the money in his bag. At two-thousand Galleons, it was a pricey trunk indeed, but he had three-thousand left on him from his initial split of his vault, along with some Sickles, Knuts, and Muggle Pounds. Gringotts was a short walk away if he ever needed more. "Yeah. I'd have to draw it from my vault, but I could buy ten of the things and not make a dent. Now, what's so bloody interesting about it?"

The man smiled, and said, "Well, the seven compartment trunk is the standard Auror field trunk, but without the stock of supplies that normally comes with it. That four-compartment trunk is my own special line. First three comparments are standard, twice the size as the outside dimensions of the trunk and simple locks. The fourth is where the fun is. It looks exactly like the third compartment, including whatever's inside it at the time, but you put your hand in and think of the item you want, and it pulls it out of a space the size of a small warehouse. Automatic sorting, preserving and cleaning charms are included, so you can even put dirty clothes in it and they'll be clean when you pull them back out. The fourth compartment's keyed by blood, so nobody can get into it unless they're allowed, and it comes pre-stocked with emergency supplies for a week, including a tent, stove, and food and water. There's a quick-pack function, and anything you tag with the included spell sticker can get pulled into the trunk at a moment's notice. Really useful if you're on the move a lot, or just have a lot to take with you. The only problem is, you can't shrink the trunk, or it'll wreck the warehouse. It won't let you shrink it anyway, and it's practically indestructable. It takes me four months to make just one of them, and most of that is spellcasting and aligning the focusing gems to hold all the spells."

Harry nodded. "I'll take one."

Lockdown raised an eyebrow at that. "And what would a young lad like you need with so much space?"

Harry put on a frown, and pulled back his hood. "I'm the bloody Boy Who Lived! I need the security, not the space! Everybody wants a piece of me, and I'll be damned if they'll steal it from my trunk!" He poured out the requisite amount from his bag, and said, "Now, do you have one in brushed steel? Wood and leather are so medieval."

* * *

After buying his new trunk--which he had to wait for, the materials requested weren't the sort Lockdown normally used, but just putting the plating over another turnk worked well enough and didn't disrupt the spells--and loading his new library of books into it, Harry spent his mornings and evenings reading, doing his best to learn everything he could. Potions in particular was interesting to him. The instructions were more like cooking than magic, something he was familiar with from his time with the Dursleys. By the end of the week, he had memorized the basic facts about most of the ingredients listed in the first and second year books. He had also read "Hogwarts: A History" twice, and was fascinated with the castle's many historical oddities. As he could not practice magic with his wand yet, a tip he'd learned from McGonagall on one of her weekly visits, he only briefly read his 'Standard Book of Spells: Grade One'. After studying a section on warming charms, he put the book away with a sigh. "Not like I could do much with my school wand, if Olivander was any indication." His pitiful display of sparks had shown just how ill-suited the wand was, but Olivander had insisted he not use the iron wand in front of others until the time was right. Visiting the man again was on his list of things to do before school, and now that his mind was on the subject, it seemed a good time to do so. 

Packing both wands away in one of the inside pockets of his robes, Harry walked quietly down the street. He'd allowed his hair to grow a bit to cover his scar, but he was known to the residents of Diagon Alley and they would each greet him happily when he walked by, though not by name. Harry disliked being the object of so much attention, so he had encouraged the shopkeepers not to use his name around large knots of people. So far, none had, instead calling him "Mr. Planter."

Arriving at Olivander's shop, Harry stepped inside with a feline grace that can only be learned through years of sneaking around people who dislike you. Olivander barely turned, but seemed to know Harry was there anyway. "Ah, Mister Potter. Back again so soon? Having any problems with your wand? Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, as I recall."

Harry shook his head. "No, no real problems. After all, I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school. I was just curious about some things, and wondered if you could answer a few questions about wands for me."

Olivander turned to face Harry, smiling gently. "Ask away, Mister Potter. I'll tell you what I can, but wandmaking is an art that few truly appreciate, and even fewer can perform flawlessly. I shan't give away too many secrets, lest my competitors get wind of things best left unknown."

"Thank you." Harry smiled faintly, and retrieved his wooden wand. "You've told me what this one is made of, but I'm afraid I don't see why it would react to me when none of the others would. You mentioned that the wand chooses the wizard, but how?"

"Ah, right to the heart of things, eh?" Olivander looked pleased. "It's quite complicated, and something that would take years to explain in proper detail, but the simple explanation is resonance. Each wand is a combination of a magical core, surrounded by an amplifying layer of wood of a certain length, and a small quartz crystal in the tip to act as a focal point. The quality of the crystal improves power and accuracy, but only to a small degree because it is sucha small part of the wand. It is the interaction of the other two parts which makes a wand unique. For example, your wand is particularly long and semi-rigid, making it excellent for casting very powerful spells with high precision, and the phoenix feather core leans you more towards transfiguration. Unicorn hair would have indicated a predeliction for healing, and dragon heartstring is best for charms, though of course all three can cast the other magics just as well. The choice of wood and length alters the resonance of the core, allowing for better focusing of the wizard's magic. More flexible woods are better for soft casting and detailed work, where stiff woods are best for large-scale and powerful spells. Depending on the core, longer or shorter wands will improve power or detail, and the interaction of all these things determines whether a wand is suited to its wielder. Each witch and wizard is best at a particular type of magic, and their wand will reflect this. The wand will react most strongly to the magic that matches it."

Harry nodded, absorbing the details. "Then why was the reaction so weak? You said it was best for powerful casting."

Olivander sighed. "As I said, you are marked, and by more than the scar your wand's brother gave you. It is not my place to say more than that. But your wand will serve you just as well as any other wizard's wand will serve him. It is your own, internal magic which is the root of the problem."

"How so?"

"Tell me, Mister Potter. Have strange things ever happened around you?"

"Well, no. Nothing odd ever happens to me."

"And there it is. Most wizards your age have had several bouts of accidental magic by now, doing all sorts of odd things. The stronger the gift, the more often and more powerful these will be."

Harry frowned. "So I don't have much magic?"

"Quite the contrary, you are practically overflowing with it." Olivander smiled. "But you haven't been able to get at it, nor has it been able to get out on its own. Don't worry, my boy. Hogwarts will show you the way. You have power no wizard in over a thousand years has seen. It will simply be a matter of time. Some wizards do not come into their powers until they are a few years older, while others develop early. You appear to be a late bloomer."

Harry smiled at that. "That makes me feel a lot better. Thank you."

"You are welcome. Now, I suggest you head out. There is another customer coming, and I must ply my trade."

With a nod, Harry turned on his heel, and walked back to his room at the Leaky Cauldron, to study more about the history of the wizarding world.

* * *

A week later, Dumbledore came to visit Harry in his room. Spying the vast numbers of books lying scattered about the room, Dumbledore gave Harry a smile. "I see you have wasted no time attempting to catch up to your future classmates, Harry." 

Harry shrugged. "If I know the theory, the practice should be simpler. Besides, according to some of the history books I've read, I'm some sort of legendary hero to people. I don't have to be the best in my class, but I should at least give it my best effort, right?"

Dumbledore's eyes had a merry twinkle to them as he sat on the chair near the desk. "People do need heroes, Harry, but I am very glad to hear it hasn't swelled your ego. Many in your position would bask in their glory and not put effort into their studies."

Harry frowned. "After two days here, I had to convince the shopkeepers to call me 'Mister Planter,' so I could walk down the alley without being pointed at by crowds of witches. It's...uncomfortable, having people worship me like that. I don't want that sort of praise for something I don't even remember doing. I'd rather shine on my own merits."

"Your time among the Muggles was well-spent then, Harry." Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall Harry's coming protest. "Raised among wizards, I had feared you would be so often exposed to the same hero-worship you now dislike, that you would become arrogant and prideful. And there were other reasons to place you with your Aunt and Uncle, for your own protection, but that is at an end, I am afraid. As long as you stayed with someone carrying your mother's blood and called the place home, no wizard could harm you. In any case, your humility is most refreshing." Dumbledore's eyes dimmed a bit, the twinkle fading ever so slightly, as he continued, "However, there is the matter of where you will stay now that you are no longer living with the Dursleys. You cannot stay at Hogwarts, the Board of Trustees would never allow it, but I fear placing you with a wizarding family might be difficult. There are...certain parties, who shall remain nameless, who might wish to take you in to get at your inheritance, or to corrupt you into a follower of dark magic."

Harry thought about that for a moment, and said, "Sir, if I may, maybe we should wait until I've been at Hogwarts a while? Something might happen by the end of the year to make the choice obvious."

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Excellent advice young Harry, and just what I was thinking. I'm sure, once people have had a chance to know the real you, we'll find someone who would take you in without reservation or demands." Stiffly getting to his feet, the elderly wizard bowed to Harry. "In that case, I shall see you on September first, when you arrive at Hogwarts. Good afternoon, Harry, and keep out of trouble."

"I will sir."

* * *

On the first of September, Harry packed his books, cauldron, potions ingredients, and his iron wand into his new trunk. Only the wand and a few of his books had gone into the fourth compartment, the rest had been spread through the others to disguse the features of the warehouse compartment. Harry was sure he'd eventually need the extra space, but for now he simply didn't have that many things. His robes, his regular wand, a sandwich, and his sack of wizard money went into a canvas knapsack he'd bought from a muggle shop. Turning to his owl, whom he had named Hedwig, Harry said, "Well girl, it's time to be off on our adventure. Do you want to ride in the train, or fly?" 

When Hedwig simply clutched the perch of her cage tighter, Harry knew the answer. "All right then, let me tie your cage down and we can go."

Putting action to words, Harry had the trunk and cage ready to go in short order, and began hauling his trunk down the stairs. He congratulated himself on deciding to buy secondhand clothes to wear while he was out, it made him look less conspicuous. Deciding that hauling an owl across London on foot was probably a bad idea, and might get him in trouble, he hailed a taxi and got a ride to King's Cross station.

Stepping off, he checked his letter for his destination. "Nine and three-quarters? What sort of rubbish is that?" he wondered for the tenth time since seeing his letter.

Deciding it would be somewhere near platforms nine and ten, and possibly hidden from the Muggles' view, he made his way to the dividing wall between the two, and tried to puzzle out where he would hide an entire platform.

Hearing a bit of a commotion behind him, Harry spotted a group of redheads moving his way, speaking in somewhat louder than needed voices. Harry was about to dismiss them and go back to his puzzling, when one of them mentioned platform nine and three-quarters. Spinning around, he heard the older woman, who was probably the mother of the motley group of boys and lone girl, say, "Best let Percy go first. Off you go, dear."

Harry tried to track the boy, who was walking straight toward one of the dividing walls, but lost sight of him for a moment when a crowd passed between them. As the woman began directing the rest of her brood, Harry quietly pulled his trunk up nearby. The younger girl's face was a bit blotchy, and she didn't seem as happy as the rest of her family. Harry decided to make an attempt to cheer her up.

Moving closer, he whispered, "Excuse me, but do you know how they're doing that?"

The girl jumped, not having heard his approach. "Eep!"

Harry smiled, and held out his hand. "Sorry to startle you. I'm just starting at Hogwarts this year, but I've lived with Muggles all my life, so I have no idea how to get to platform nine and three-quarters. Your mother looked busy directing traffic, so I thought I'd ask you."

"Err, sorry," the girl replied. "I didn't hear you, that's all. You just walk towards the barrier to get on. Mum says to run if you're nervous." As an afterthought, she added, "I'm Ginny Weasley. I'm too young, yet, but Mum says I'll be able to go next year." She shook his hand.

Harry smiled. "Pleased to meet you, Ginny. My name's Harry Potter." He released her hand.

Ginny went white, then as red as her hair. "Oh, wow. You're the real Harry Potter?" Harry simply moved his bangs to show his scar, and smiled when her eyes widened.

"I'm not that different from a regular person, Ginny." Noting that she was slowly calming back down, he added, "Thanks for the help with the platform. I'm going to be hopeless as a wizard if I don't know simple things like that."

Ginny visibly started, then said, "B-but your Harry Potter! You stopped You-Know-Who!"

Harry shrugged. He'd come to terms with that sort of reaction over the summer. "I don't even remember it, and I'm still famous for it. I lost my parents that night, too, so I try not to think about it, either. But I'd better get going, I don't want to miss the train." He had a sudden, brilliant idea. "Say, Ginny?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, sir?"

"Just call me Harry, please."

Ginny nodded. "Uh, sure, h-Harry."

"Thanks. You don't look too pleased to be seeing your brothers leave. I take it your mum's the smothering type?"

Ginny giggled. "You have no idea. In between being bored to death and lonely, I'll have to do all sorts of silly things like knitting and cooking and stuff."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Do you have a gas stove, or is your family set up with an electric one?" He had a sneaking suspicion, based on his time at the Leaky Cauldron, but wanted to test his theory.

"Err, neither?" Ginny said in an uncertain voice. "What's 'electric' mean?"

Harry smiled. "Tell you what, Ginny. There's all sorts of stuff about wizards I don't know, like how they clean, what they do for fun, and how they heat the house in the winter. They all think I'm some sort of hero, and I don't want to look like a duffer. If you want, I could tell you about what we're doing in classes, so maybe you can get your mum to teach you something more fun instead of boring chores all year long. How's that sound?

Ginny smiled happily. "That would be great, Harry! Fred and George never write, and Ron'll probably forget, too. It would be nice to have something to look forward to."

Harry nodded. "I'll send you some letters with Hedwig, my owl. I doubt I'll be getting much other post, so it will give her something to do. I'll ask her to wait and bring yours back to me. Just between us, she loves bacon as a treat."

Ginny bobbed her head in acknowledgement, and with a wave, Harry set off toward the wall. Closing his eyes, he walked straight ahead, hoping he wouldn't hit anything. There was a brief pause, where he felt as though he was pushing against a solid barrier, then there was a pulse of heat from his chest and the obstruction tore away, causing Harry to open his eyes.

All around him were other people, milling about on the platform next to a bright scarlet steam engine. A sign above his head read 'Platform Nine and Three-Quarters' in fancy lettering. Behind him, Ginny, her mother, and the last of the redheaded Weasley boys walked through a wrought-iron archway. Harry tapped the lid of his trunk and said, "levitate". The built in weightless charm kicked in, and the trunk lifted into the air a few inches., Harry realized his bag and Hedwig's cage were weighing it down, so he slung the bag onto his shoulders and picked up the caged owl in one hand, pulling the now free-floating trunk behind him. Wanting to be alone for a bit, he found an empty compartment in the very back, lifted his weightless trunk up onto the rack, and sank gratefully to the seat. Opening his bag, he pulled out his sandwich and took a bite, while staring out the window at the platform.

A few moments later, the door opened, revealing one of the redheaded boys he'd seen with Ginny. "Can I sit here? All the other compartments are full." Harry, mouth still full, merely nodded in reply. The boy sat on the opposite bench, a paper bag in his lap. Harry swallowed, just as two older boys, whom he had also seen with Ginny, swept into the compartment.

"Oi, Ron, still in one peice?" one said with a bit of a smirk.

"Haven't fallen apart from nerves, eh?" the other added.

Harry shot the older boys a glare. "Hey, leave him be."

The two Weasleys turned, and stared. "Naw, ickle Ronniekins isn't that lucky--"

"He couldn't possibly have managed--"

"To end up in the same compartment as--"

They both finished, "Harry Potter!"

Harry merely growled, shoving his hair back on his head to reveal his scar. "Yes, he did. Now can we forget about it?"

One twin turned to the other. "Bit of fire in that one, oh brother of mine?"

"Indeed there is, almost Weasley-like--"

"Pity, might've been fun to pull one over--"

"On the Boy Who Lived."

Harry sighed, and turned to face the other boy, Ron. "They always like this?"

It took a moment for Ron to react, but he managed a quiet "Yeah."

The twins held out their hands, one left and the other right. "Fred Weasley--"

"And George Weasley--"

"Pleased to meet you."

Harry shook their hands, smiling slightly at the goofy grins on their faces. Looking out the window, the brothers found their sister on the platform, looking a bit forlorn.

"Don't look so sad Ginny--" one of the twins called out.

"Yeah, we'll write to you--"

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat!"

"We'll even get Harry Potter to sign it for you!"

Ginny just laughed, and the train began to pull away. Harry, turning back to his sandwich, watched Fred and George leave the compartment, talking about a giant tarantula one of their friends had brought. Ron looked a bit pale when they mentioned it.

Just as they left, a round-faced boy came in, looking about. "Have either of you seen a toad? Mine's gone off again."

Both passengers shook their heads. Harry added, "Isn't there a charm you can put on a pet so you can find him again? Maybe you can have one of the teachers put it on him for you when we get to Hogwarts." The other boy nodded, and said, "Best I find him before we get there, then. Thanks. I'm Neville Longbottom, nice to meet you." He left quickly, and Harry turned to study his compartment mate. Ron seemed a bit down, so Harry tried to cheer him up a bit. After all, the boy was going to be with him for at least a few hours, and possibly the rest of his school term if the ended up in the same House.

"So, Ron, right?" At the affirmative nod, Harry asked, "First year?"

"Yeah." Ron looked a bit intimidated to be in Harry's presence. "I've got a lot to live up to, I guess. Five older brothers, one of them's a prefect, two were top of their class, and the twins are a menace. But I'm useless at magic."

Harry chuckled. "Can't be much worse than me, mate. I was raised by Muggles. Didn't even know I was a wizard until my letter came."

Ron's eyes widened. "You're having me on!"

"No, it's true." Harry frowned. "Matter of fact, I didn't believe it when I first got my letter. I sent a really nasty reply back with one of the owls, and Professor McGonagall had to come convince me I was really a wizard."

"But you're Harry Potter! Why on Earth would they stick you with a bunch of muggles?"

"Dunno for sure, mate. Dumbledore came to visit me over the summer, and he said-"

Ron interrupted. "Dumbledore? He actually came to see you?"

"Err, yeah. McGonagall pulled me out of my uncle's house after she met my aunt. My aunt and uncle are probably the biggest Muggles on the planet. So I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the last couple months, reading about the Wizarding World. Anyway, Dumbledore came to see me once, and he said he put me with the Dursleys to keep me from getting a big head living with wizards." Harry decided not to mention the blood protection wards, as they'd never work again anyway. "He's probably right, too. If this summer was any indication, I'd've been one arrogant prat."

Ron nodded. "Well, at least you're out, mate. Must be nice, getting to do whatever you want."

"Eh, I wasn't supposed to leave my room without an escort. I spent most of the time reading stuff out of my books. Couldn't practice any of the charms or anything, but potions was a bit easier. And Hedwig, my owl, was good company."

"Wow, you've got an owl?" Ron dug in a pocket, and pulled out a fat, ugly rat. "This's Scabbers, I got 'im as a present for starting school this year. He used to be Percy's, but he got an owl for making prefect, so he didn't want Scabbers. He's a bit useless, but Fred and George gave me a spell to turn him yellow." He pulled out his wand.

Their compartment door opened again, and a bushy-haired witch stuck in her head. "Have either of you seen a toad? Neville's lost one.

Harry answered quickly, "Neville's already been through here, but we'll catch him if we see him, right mate?" Ron nodded.

The girl spotted Ron's wand, and said, "Oh, are you doing magic? My parents are Muggles, and we were ever so surprised when I got my letter, so I've never seen real magic before! Oh, my name's Hermoine Granger."

Nodding, and not paying particular attention to the girl, Ron waved his wand over his rat, chanting, "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" Nothing happened except Scabbers turning over in his sleep.

"Looks like your brothers gave you a bum spell, Ron," Harry interjected when he saw Hermoine about to say something. Her prior tone of voice made her sound rather the bossy and overbearing type, and he was proven right when she huffed, "Well, that was rather rude of them wasn't it? Magic is supposed to be rather precise, and that could have backfired horribly, and maybe even injured you!"

Ron looked a bit dazed at being the subject of such a rant, when Harry leaned over and said, "Cheer up mate, she's on your side, right?"

Hermoine sniffed indignantly. "I should say so. And..." She trailed off for a moment, before exclaiming, "You're Harry Potter! I've read all about you!"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, I've read those books. Trash, the lot of it, especially the entry in 'Modern Magical History'. Most of the details were wrong, and my house wasn't blasted to ruins like it says in Modern Magical History. I still have nightmares about it on occasion, and I can at least recall seeing an intact ceiling and walls. Besides that, I hear there's a memorial there now."

The girl deflated visibly at that comment. "I'm sorry. But still, you're a living legend! Everyone knows about Harry Potter, even me, and I just found out I'm a witch a few months ago!"

Harry nodded, letting a long-suffering sigh escape his throat. "As I was saying to Ron here, I found out about it the same time you did, more or less. I was raised by my muggle aunt and uncle, and they did their level best to keep me from learning anything about magic. Vernon used to hit me with his belt when I was younger, any time I so much as mentioned something even remotely out of the ordinary. That stopped happening a few years ago, I think. They even gave me a real bedroom for my ninth birthday, instead of making me sleep under the stairs."

Hermoine was absolutely flabbergasted. "That's horrible! Why would they do that to you?" Ron, also staring, nodded in agreement.

Harry just shrugged. "They take a lot of pride in being normal muggles. I think they thought they could make my magic go away if they hurt me enough. It might've worked too, if Olivander's right."

As Hermoine was about to say something more, the door slid open, revealing a pale haired young boy in black robes with two bigger thugs at his back. "Is it true? They're saying all up and down the train that Harry Potter's in this car."

Harry, still dressed in his slightly worn jeans and a neat black t-shirt, stood up. The other boy's smirk and haughty demeanor made him uncomfortable. "Who wants to know?" he asked.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, Potter. My father is very influential in the wizarding world. You look like you could use some help learning your way around our social niceties. I can help you there." Malfoy held out a hand, smiling thinly.

Harry nodded in recognition. "I remember you from Madame Malkin's. So, your old man was one of the ones who claimed he was under the Imperius with Voldemort." Ignoring the sharp gasps from the other people in the car, he continued. "I did a lot of reading and listening over the summer, Master Malfoy, getting caught up on wizard society. What does a pureblood, especially one with a blood prejudice like you, want with a half-blood like me?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Half-blood?"

"My mum was muggle-born, it's not terribly well known, actually. I should think that throws any friendship with you right out the window, with your father's reputation to maintain. Besides, I'm not impressed by your father's money, or his influence. I'm also not much impressed with your attitude. I'll make my own judgements about who my friends are, thank you. But, that doesn't mean we have to be enemies." He lightly shook Draco's hand, and said, "It's been nice meeting you. I hope you do well in Slytherin House. I hope you don't mind that I won't be joining you. Blood purity and all that."

Draco struggled to process all of Harry's words, and was unsure whether he'd been insulted or not. Deciding that Potter's tone hadn't been rude, he replied, "Yes, well, perhaps we shall have to see how things go. Crab, Goyle, let's go!" He turned and strode out the door, his flunkies trailing behind him.

Hermoine looked noticably impressed. "That was very well spoken, Harry. Even I had trouble following it. Did you tell him off, or not?"

Harry sat down, smiling slightly. "Having to defuse the Dursleys taught me how to be a fast talker. He seemed like he just wanted to be friends because I'm famous, so I turned that around on him. I did study some wizard politics before I came, and his dad is really elitist as far as blood purity is concerned. If he's anything like his father, he'd be unpleasant to be around. But if he doesn't actively hate me, he won't bother me too much, and we might work something out. So I did my best to keep things neutral." He shrugged. "Who knows? I might even end up in his house, half-blood be damned."

"Aw, you don't wanna end up in Slytherin, mate," Ron said. "There wasn't a witch or wizard went bad that wasn't in Slytherin."

Harry nodded. "That's true in general. But not everyone who was in Slytherin is Dark, and there were dark wizards that came out of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor as well. Salazar Slytherin valued purity of blood and cunning intelligence. Neither of those things makes you evil."

"That's right," chimed Hermoine. "And for that matter, not all Dark Magic is evil either. Blood rituals, for example, are traditionally dark magic, but that's because many wizards aren't willing to go to the trouble of getting people to help them willingly. There are a lot of very powerful ceremonies that you could do to help someone else, but because so few people are willing to cut themselves and spill a few drops of blood, the wizard casting the spell has to kidnap them. And some wizards enjoy torture, or draw too much blood thinking it will make the ritual more likely to succeed."

Harry shook his head. "Not at all! According to 'Bonds of Blood: A history of Blood Rituals' by Hagrim Halfheart, the reason blood magic was banned in the late 15th century is because it was unpredictable. Some wizards would die while doing the rituals, and others wouldn't. Of course, muggles have figured out why that would happen, since they discovered blood-typing in the early 20th century. With a little screening and some easy to get muggle technology, blood magic is perfectly risk-free and potentially very powerful. For example, you could transfer magical qualities from one person to another. Say your cousin's a Metamorphmagus, and you and he share a blood type. A quick transfusion, and now you're a Metamorphmagus too!"

Hermoine looked awed, while Ron looked confused. "Er, back up a sec mate. Did you just say you know how to do blood magic?"

Harry shrugged. "Sure. Tie a tournequit around your bicep, swab the area around the vein with disinfectant, draw a few ounces of blood with a syringe, heal the pinprick, and inject the blood into your recipient. As long as you checked your blood for compatability first, the other guy gets any special stuff you might have, and no harm done."

Hermoine was bouncing in her seat, ecstatic that she'd found someone as smart as she was. "May I borrow that book, Harry? That sounds ever so interesting!" Harry merely pulled his trunk off the luggage rack, and pulled the book out of the third compartment. Handing it over, he said, "It's rather graphic, but it's mostly a history of rituals that didn't work."

Hermoine opened the book on her lap, and began reading the table of contents. "It stops after 1759. Where did you read about using blood-typing to make the rituals work?"

"Thought it up myself, after I read a bit," Harry said, looking at his feet and blushing in embarrassment. "My cousin Dudley cut his wrist on a sharp rock last summer, and he needed a transfusion because he'd lost so much by the time we got him to the hospital. After he got his stitches, the doctor explained what they were doing to help him recover faster. I remembered that after reading the bit about Gargin the Sharp."

Ron groaned. "How'd I get stuck with a pair of Ravenclaws? All this stuff is making my head hurt. Can we save the school stuff for school?"

Harry chuckled, and put his trunk away again. "Don't worry Ron, we still have plenty of time to goof off before we get to Hogwarts." He looked thoughtful, then asked, "What sort of games do wizards play to pass the time? I know about Quidditch from my books, but that's about it."

"Prob'ly not enough time for Wizard's Chess, but how about a game of Exploding Snap? The lunch cart should be along soon." The redhead's stomach grumbled at the mention of food, and his face reddened to match. Harry nodded, and the pair sat on the floor while Ron explained the rules.

Not long after Harry had lost his second straight game to Ron, Hermoine closed the book, looking pale and slightly nauseous. Harry turned to her, and said, "I warned you it was graphic." Hermoine merely nodded and handed the book back. Harry put it in his knapsack rather than get his trunk down again, and was just about to ask for another game when the door opened.

A kindly older woman was standing near a cart loaded with all sorts of snacks. "Anything from the cart, dears?" she asked. Ron eyed the cart for a moment, then sighed and turned to his paper bag. "Mum made me sandwiches. I'm fine."

Harry, sensing his new friend was anything but fine, bought three of everything that was sweet. It barely touched what he had left in his money pouch, but he winced at the thought of having to eat it all if this didn't work out. Turning to Ron and Hermoine, he said, "One of anything you like for each of us, and we'll trade the things we don't want. Dig in." Hermoine pulled a pumpkin pasty off the small mound of food, but Ron looked dubious. Harry smiled and said, "Come on mate, I can't eat this all myself. Your mum has five kids to cook for, yeah?" Ron nodded, and Harry continued, "Then it's no wonder she made sandwiches. Easiest things in the world to make, not too pricey, and full of feeling." He grinned. "Besides, what good is gold? Can't eat gold, it's way too hard to sleep on, and it doesn't play exploding snap with me. I'd trade my vault for a few good friends any day."

That got Ron to smile, and he reached in to grab something for himself. Harry smiled back, and said, "See mate? Now toss me one of your sandwiches. I only made one and all this sugar will rot me if I don't eat something else with it."

* * *

When the train rolled to a stop outside the castle, it was nearly dark. Harry, Ron, and Hermoine stepped off the train, and got their first look at the towering structure on the edge of the cliffs. The sunset was painting the castle and grounds a dull orange, and Harry shook himself out of a sudden sense of forboding. Ron was about to ask what was wrong, when a loud, booming voice called out, "Firs' Years o'er 'ere!" 

Harry smiled as he recognized the voice, and saw its owner standing well above the students milling about the platform. Harry led his new friends over to the very tall Hagrid, and waved hello. "Hagrid! Nice to see you again!"

Hagrid waved back. "All righ' then, Harry? Good ter see yeh makin' friends already." He pointed to the boats arrayed behind him on the lake, and said, "Four to a boat now. Best be gettin aboard."

Harry spotted the boy who'd lost his toad looking a bit lost, and pulled him over. "You can ride with us. Sorry we haven't found your toad yet, Neville." He held out his hand. "You left before we could introduce ourselves. I'm Harry Potter."

Neville stared at Harry, eyes wide. Then, he shook Harry's hand, smiling happily. The quartet got in their boat, and Ron also leaned over to shake hands. "Ron Weasley. My dad knew your parents." At Neville's wince, Ron colored again. "Sorry Neville, I forgot."

Harry blinked, then the facts clicked together in his brain. "Wait, Frank and Alice Longbottom, the best Aurors in recent history?" Neville nodded sadly, and Harry looked the boy in the eyes. "I've read a lot about them. Professor McGonagal told me your parents saved mine more than once before Moldyshorts got them. I owe your family a debt I can never repay." He held out his hand again to an astonished Neville. "It's good to know there's a Longbottom to stand with me here at Hogwarts, same as my parents had."

Neville, stunned, shook Harry's hand again. Then, he asked, "Wait, 'Moldyshorts'?"

Harry grinned. "Well, Voldemort's" there was a flinch from Ron and Neville, "gone isn't he? So there's no real need to fear saying his name, but why risk it when I can insult him instead? I'm also rather fond of 'the Dark Tosser' and 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Smelled'." At the last one Ron laughed, and even Neville cracked a smile while Hermoine hid her giggles behind her hand. Just then, Hagrid's voice boomed out of the encroaching darkness.

"All righ' now, is everyone settled in?" He was now standing in a boat of his own, which was riding dangerously low in the watter. "Then we'd best be gettin' off to Hogwarts!" He sat down, and the boats began moving slowly across the lake.

All except Harry's boat, which lagged behind for a moment, then started across at the very end of the line.

* * *

Professor McGonagal met the first years in a small room, glancing over them with a severe visage that brooked no nonsense. A quick explanation and some dire threats later, and the first-years were left to themselves. Some of the groups chattered, but Harry, Ron, Hermoine and Neville had done their talking and speculating on the ride over, and now simply waited quietly. Just then, there was a loud "Croak!" and Neville rushed forward to reclaim his lost toad with a shout of "Trevor!". 

"Hey Neville, bring him over here for a minute," Harry called, while fishing in the pocket of his jeans. A moment later, he produced a length of twine. "Here, we'll tie this around one of his legs, just tight enough it won't slip off," and he did so, "then we tie the other end to this button-hole on your biggest pocket." Trevor was deposited in the pocket and fit perfectly, and when he hopped out and tried to get away, the twine held him so Neville could reel him in again.

"That's a neat idea, Harry," Ron remarked. "Scabbers just sleeps all the time, so I don't worry about him getting lost."

"I wonder why he tries to run away so much," Hermoine said. "Why don't you take Trevor to see the Care of Magical Creatures professor and ask him to take a look. Are you sure you're feeding him properly?"

Harry added, "Or just take him to Hagrid. He's nuts about reptiles and amphibians, and he's not usually too busy from what he told me over the summer."

A group of ghosts chose that moment to slide through the wall, talking amongst themselves. One of them noticed the first years as they passed by, and looked as though he was about to say something, when he abruptly looked straight at Harry. The entire group stopped, and immediately vanished from sight.

McGonagal came in again, and said in a stern voice. "Now, you will follow me into the Hall. Inside, you will sit on the stool, put on the Sorting Hat, and it will place you according to your best fit within Hogwarts." Ron breathed a sigh of relief at that, as did the others. He'd already spoken of his brothers' tale about wrestling a troll.

Inside, the hall was just as it had been described in Harry's copy of 'Hogwarts: a History.' Four long tables, one for each House, the staff table on a raised platform, and the enchanted cieling and candles. The ones in their corner of the room seemed to be flickering a bit more than the others, but no one really paid it any attention. As the Sorting Hat began to sing, Harry looked over the faces of the students and professors in the room. He managed to catch Dumbledor's eye, and the aging Headmaster gave him a wink.

The hat was now done, and McGonagal was speaking again. "When I call your name, come forward and be Sorted. Abbot, Hanah!" Harry tuned out for a moment, studying the enchanted ceiling, then he heard "Granger, Hermoine."

The bushy-haired girl walked forward as calmly as she could, and set the hat upon her head. It was quiet for a moment, then called out, "Gryffindor!" Hermoine looked a bit confused, then smiled and put the hat down, going to her new housmates. It wasn't long after that when "Longbottom, Neville" was called up. Neville put the hat on his head, one hand holding Trevor securely in his pocket. The hat had barely touched his head before it yelled, "Gryffindor!" in the loudest voice it had used yet. Neville looked pleased with himself, and set the hat back on the stool.

A few more names rolled by, and Harry watched them all move about, until a pair of twin girls had been sorted and his own name should have come up, but hadn't. The rest of the children were sorted, with the last being "Weasley, Ronald." He went to Gryffindor. The entire hall was buzzing about the last boy, and Hermoine, Ron, and Neville looked concerned. Meanwhile, Mcgonagal looked at Harry, and back at her parchment list. "Well, that's very strange indeed. There is a blank space where your name should be. I must not have noticed someone playing a prank." She shot a look at the assembled students, as though trying to discern the culprits.

"Well, no matter. I doubt I could forget your name, young man. Potter, Harry!" There was a slight smile on McGonagal's face as Harry walked to the stool and put the hat upon his head. For a moment, nothing happened, and Harry wondered if something was wrong, but then a quiet voice whispered in his mind, "Well young Potter, you've gotten yourself into a right pickle haven't you? You could easily go to any house in Hogwarts, there's strong loyalty, great intelligence, plenty of cunning, and courage to spare, but... Oh my! So THAT explains it."

"What explains what?" Harry thought, and the hat answered back. "My dear boy, there is only one place for such as you. You're the first to ever meet His qualifications, I must say. I never thought I'd see it, but he was quite the wizard, knew someone would come eventually. I doubt anyone even remembers it exists, actually." Then, before Harry could ask any further, the Hat opened its brim and yelled, "MERLIN!"

The entire hall was silent. Finally, Dumbledore stood, and asked, "Did you just say, 'Merlin'?"

The hat made a nodding motion, and replied, "Harry Potter goes to Merlin House." The hat nodded again, and said, "There's no mistake, Headmaster. He's the first in almost a thousand years, the first since I was made, but Merlin House it is."

Dumbledore stared at the hat as though it had suddenly turned pink and started dancing, but then shook his head. "This is certainly a momentous occasion for Hogwarts. The first member of a lost House. I'm afraid I will need to ask you all to wait a moment while I review the proper pages from Hogwarts' Tome of Protocol." He waved his hand, and a large book appeared on the table in front of him, open to the necessary page. Perusing it quickly, he looked up at the Sorting Hat, still resting on Harry's head. "According to this, any member of Merlin House is automatically assigned rooms and classes with their Secondary House, as Merlin left no wing or tower specifically for his students. What is Harry's Secondary House?"

The Hat appeared to smile, as it said, "What else for a young man who found his way into the lost House? To tread that path requires all the courage of... Gryffindor!" For a moment, there was more silence, then the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, and the Weasley twins began dancing a jig, singing, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry put the hat on its stool, and went to sit by Hermoine, Ron, and Neville, who had saved a seat for him.

"Well, we all ended up in the same House," Ron said with a smile. "Even if Harry's hin two Houses. How'd you manage to pull that off?" Harry just shrugged, and then saw Dumbledore standing up again. "In light of all that excitement, I'm sure you are all hungry. But before we begin, a few words." There was a groan from some of the first years, but Dumbledore continued undeterred: "Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!" And with a clap of his hands, every plate in the hall was suddenly filled with food.

All except Harry's, which faded in a moment later. Ron remarked, "I wonder if they weren't sure what to give you, since you're not really in our house and all." Harry simply picked up his fork and stabbed one of his potatoes. "Beats me mate. Now lets tuck in, my sugar rush is wearing off."

* * *

It was an excellent feast, though Harry privately thought that he could have cooked the roast a bit better, it was too dry for his liking. At the end of it all, Dumbledore made a few announcements, things Harry mostly tuned out. A corridor holding painful death? In a school? What was the old man thinking? For that matter, was he thinking at all? As Dumbledore called the Prefects to lead the first-years to their dorms, he added, "And would Mister Potter please remain for a moment? We must discuss your arrangements as the first member of House Merlin." 

Harry hung back as the hall slowly emptied. Finally, there were just six people left: Harry, Dumbledore, and the four Heads of House: McGonagal, Flitwick, Sprout and Snape. Feeling it appropriate to the situation, Harry made a slight bow to the professors, and waited quietly for them to speak.

"I have review the appropriate protocols, Harry, and I feel you should know some of the peculiarities of your situation," Dumbledore began. "According to the Tome, members of Merlin House are given special priviledges and responsibilities, which may be revoked for poor behaviour by a combined vote of the Heads of the other four Houses and the Headmaster. I shall be providing you a copy of the complete rules for your House's conduct, but the important parts should be dealt with straightaway. First, Merlin House does not have House points, and you cannot earn or lose them for your secondary house except by majority vote of the Heads and myself. Along with this, any detentions you are given must go through the same vote. This is to prevent any particular Head of House from showing you favoritism or punishing you unjustly, simply because you are not in a House." Dumbledore gave McGonagal and Snape a short glance each, as though he knew where the trouble would be coming from.

Harry nodded, and Dumbledore continued. "As well, you will gain the same powers as a Prefect after the Christmas holidays unless you are voted down, but that can wait. At present, you are not bound by curfew so long as you have legitimate business being out of your common room after hours. You are also granted access to the Restricted Section of the library, but the books may not leave the library itself until your fifth year, hence the waiving of curfew. You are allowed to enter the Forbidden Forest in the daytime if you have informed one of the Heads that you are entering, and what time you intend to return. No other students are to go with you, or you will lose the priviledge. The Centaur herd in the forest is sworn to protect students of Merlin House, so you may ask them for help if you are lost."

Here Dumbledore's face became stern. "Those are your priviledges, now for your responsibilities. Merlin house holds its students to very high standards, and if you fail to uphold them you face being re-Sorted. You are still required to obey all Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl when they give you a legitimate order. You are not to engage in fighting with other students, even when provoked, unless it is to defend yourself from harm. You are also required to attend extra lessons with each of the Heads of House, lessons which will be arranged by tomorrow afternoon to begin on Saturday. You are allowed to participate in Quidditch with any of the four teams, and you are allowed a broom as a first year, but you are required to stay with a House after being accepted onto their team, you may not switch teams if they are doing poorly nor may you purposely fail to perform. If you are assigned to lose points for Gryffindor, and the vote fails, the professor is allowed to assign extra homework with the approval of the Heads to ensure the punishment is still fair, and you are required to do these assignments and turn them in on time, or more will be given."

"Finally," Dumbledore said with a smile, "you are required to complete a year-long independant study project every year you attend Hogwarts. A proposal for this year's project is due next Tuesday for my review. If it is insufficient, we shall discuss a better project until one is found. And with that, I shall leave you to Minerva, who will escort you to the Gryffindor dormitories and get you settled in. A copy of the rules will be available for you to study at breakfast."

Harry nodded, and bowed again, before turning to the older woman peering down at him. Holding out his arm like a proper young gentleman, he said with barely restrained mirth, "Shall we, Professor McGonagal?"

Smiling slightly, the witch took his arm as it was offered, and replied, "Indeed, Mister Potter. You may not be restrained by the curfew, but you will have plenty of time to explore the castle tomorrow." She led them toward the tower at a brisk walk, and Harry trotted dutifully alongside, not speaking. When they arrived, McGonagal told Harry the password, and ushered him inside before going off to her own chambers.

Just beyond the portrait hole, the entirety of Gryffindor House waited for him. Stepping in, he saw that each of the Prefects--one of whom was Head Boy--were holding something in their hands, and waited for them to speak.

Percy Weasley led them, though he was the youngest. "Harry Potter, as a member of House Merlin and House Gryffindor, it is our honor to present you with your House scarf, pin, and signet ring." He and another pair of boys stepped forward, and held out three black velvet boxes. The first, held by Percy was large, and held the scarf, a mass of pure silver yarn with a single 'M' in blue on one end. Harry draped it over his shoulders. The next box was a small badge, made of silver, with a silver sword hovering over a lake of purest sapphire blue. Harry pinned it to his robes, and opened the final box. Inside was a small ring of dull gray metal, unadorned except for an engraving of the word 'Merlin' around the band. Harry picked it up and felt it pulse in his hand, a shaft of cold penetrating his chest as the chill metal in his fingers began to warm. He slipped it on and the discomfort faded, though his hand tingled a bit.

Now, the other three came forward, also holding boxes identical to those which had held his Merlin House regalia. "You may only be in Gryffindor as your Secondary House, but the House took a vote, and we want you to have these as well." The trio opened their boxes, revealing the contents. The large box held a chain of alternating gold and bronze links, the next a Gryffindor badge with a loop of gold at its top, and the last held a Gryffindor signet ring. The three older Prefects strung the badge and ring onto the chain, and the Head Boy held it out to Harry. "May these bring you the same courage and strength they bring to any Gryffindor."

Harry took the necklace, and held it up so everyone could see. "This means a lot to me. Both my parents were in Gryffindor, and when I didn't get Sorted to your House, I knew they would be disappointed. But now I'm sure they're smiling down on all of us, becuase this is what Gryffindor is all about! Loyalty isn't just the purview of Hufflepuff, and it takes courage to accept someone who is different from you. I swear I'll do my best to honor this gift in the spirit it was given, and wear it right here." And with that, he put the necklace around his throat to the cheers of the house. The Prefects took a moment to calm everything down and send everyone to bed. Harry made to go to the same room as Ron, but one of the Prefects took him by the arm. "There's never been a door here before, but as soon as we got in we saw it. Your ring, scarf, and badge were sitting just outside it." He led Harry across the common room and into a small nook. Inside was another door with a large 'M' carved into its shiny surface. The boy, who still hadn't told Harry his name, said quietly, "Percy tried to open it, but he pulled back like the door was on fire. I think it's spelled only to open for you."

Harry touched the door, and found it cool and smooth. It swung open easily, revealing a small room with the same furniture as a regular dorm: bed, dresser, and a door to a bathroom at the far end. On the wall was a small piece of parchment with four simple words.

"Welcome to Merlin House."

* * *

Author's Notes:

I went back to add scene breaks to Chapter 1 to make it more readable. Curse FFnet and its text filters! I'm not a bloody five year-old, I know how to format a story myself.

**Ahem**

First, I have to apologize in advance that the next part of Null Signature will not be coming as quickly as this one. When I finally decided to post the first chapter, I had already finished it and about half of this chapter, so I was ahead by quite a bit. I will continue to primarily focus on this piece, since it seems fairly popular, but I can make no guarantees about how quickly they will be coming out. Because of my duties at home, I can only write during my spare time at the office, which may come and go at random depending on the needs of the day. So anyone who is anxious to read more of this, I suggest you browse around FFnet and find other things to read in the meantime. I'll be adding authors and stories to my favorites list now that my account is up and running at full steam, so you'll have that to go on at least.

Now to answer the questions posed in reviews, though mostly without naming names since some of the questions are similar.

First off, No, Harry is not a Squib, as this chapter should have proven. The specifics of Vernon's Plot (the code-name I use for what he did to Harry) are going to have to remain a mystery for now. Revealing it too soon spoils the ending, and I already have the revelation and the last few chapters plotted and outlined, I'm just working on the lead-up. Feel free to speculate, but I will not be saying one way or the other what happened to him.

Second, Harry's second wand is made of iron, not lead, and it too is significant to the plot, but again I won't give that away just yet. But keep an eye out and you might begin to get the idea. Again, speculate if you wish but I won't say anything about it except through the story.

With regards to TheQuiveringQuill's review: I almost wrote a story like that, but it didn't really work well. So I used the title on this one. I just happen to like it, the words evoke so many different thoughts. The nature of the title and its relation to Vernon's Plot and Harry's Iron Wand will become clearer eventually, but do not despair! Like Rowling, my first-year story will be much shorter than those to follow, and a lot of things in the books will be eliminated or compressed.

I had reasons to put Harry with the Gryffindors but I needed him to still be separate from them. I almost stuck him in Ravenclaw, but the changes to the canon would have been too drastic then, and it's been done to death anyway. So far, I've never read a fic with a secret fifth House, so I decided to use that as my plot device. My research shows that Hogwarts was founded in 1000 A.D. and according to most folklore Merlin would have been alive during that time. Why wouldn't the most powerful wizard who ever lived have a hand in building the greatest wizarding school in his home islands? Before his passing and the eventual creation of the sorting hat, there were more members of his house, hand picked of course, but his criteria were so strict that none who grew up without his tutelage could meet them. More information about that is coming in chapter 3, which hopefully will cover Harry's first batch of classes and a history lesson on his House, along with revealing what happens to his Quidditch career.


	3. Back to School Blues

Obligatory Standard Disclaimer: Characters and locations copyright J.K. Rowling, her publishers, et all (except Kraken Weed, that one belongs to Piers Anthony). I'm merely borrowing her setting as a writing exercise, no profit is being made, and besides, if I was making money on this you would be paying to read it, wouldn't you? So settle in, enjoy the read, and don't do anything rash.

Chapter 03 - Back to School Blues

Having his own room was rather nice, no matter how small it might seem compared to the rest of the dorms, Harry decided. He had taken a trip up to visit with Ron and Neville before turning in for the night, and decided the only real advantage he had was his private bathroom. The Gryffindor/Merlin House room had one small bay window with a built in desk facing out to the grounds, an empty bookcase, and its own fireplace. Near the bathroom was a set of empty racks which, according to the sign above them, were for potions ingredients. The floor below them had a small cauldron holder, which pleased Harry to no end. Potions was one of the few subjects he had any practice with, and being able to do his studying while making brews would help cement the recipes in his mind. His equipment appeared to be either still packed or had been delivered elsewhere, but he wasn't overly concerned.

There were no paintings here, and no mirrors except the tiny one in the bathroom, which reassured Harry that no one was looking in on him. Most importantly of all, to Harry's mind, it was completely quiet. No sound penetrated the heavy door from the common room unless the door was opened, and from the looks of things he was the only student who could touch it. It remained to be seen whether the staff could open the door, though he suspected they would simply use the fireplace Floo, as there was a small dish of powder nearby. This was to be his retreat, a place to study and do his work when the pressures of being the Boy Who Lived and the only member of his House got to be too much. Merlin, Harry thought, must have liked his privacy too, or he wouldn't have arranged for rooms like these.

A brightening of the window had alerted him to the rising of the sun and the start of his day. He had always been an early riser, needing to fix breakfast for his relatives on most mornings, and his cupboard hadn't been particularly comfortable at any rate. So, as the sun rose and filled his small room with a rosy glow, Harry performed his morning rituals, and took a moment to place his textbooks and a few other volumes he liked on the shelves of his empty bookcase. A spare bottle of ink and a few extra quills went to the desk, along with most of his parchment. He set his cauldron on the stand and put the shrunken package of ingredients inside it. He decided to unshrink the package and put it away later, as he was starting to feel hungry.

As luck would have it, he opened his door to an empty common room. He wasn't sure he wanted to try and navigate the corridors alone, but as he debated what to do, two identical redheads thundered down the stairs from the boys' dorms.

"Morning Harry!" one called as the walked over. Harry wasn't able to tell whether it was Fred or George.

"Don't see many firsties up this early," the other added.

"Best time of day for setting up pranks, really-"

"But we like to give everyone the first day off-"

"Gets them used to the castle again, makes them worry."

"Besides, no use pranking-"

"On an empty stomach!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I suppose you'll just get lost on the way to breakfast then." Fred and George took the bait.

"Oi! We know every passage-"

"And every staircase in this castle-"

"Like the backs of our hands!" they cried in unison.

Harry just grinned. "You mean you can see them through that layer of dirt? I'm impressed."

Now the twins realized they were being played. "I think he's teasing us, oh brother mine."

"Then we shall have to prank him."

"Oh yes, but how will we get past his fierce guardian of a door?"

"There is that."

"Maybe we'll have to get him in the halls."

"We could do something to his brekkie."

"Speaking of brekkie," Harry interjected, "I thought you didn't prank on an empty stomach."

The twins glanced at each other, then at Harry. "He's a clever one, Gred."

"That he is, Forge. Apprentice?"

"Definitely."

"Then it's decided. Breakfast?"

"Lead the way, oh brother mine!"

And with that, the twins linked arms with Harry and began escorting him toward the Great Hall, chattering all the while about the pranks they had pulled in years past.

* * *

It was immediately evident that few people were ever up this early at Hogwarts. There were only six other students in the Great Hall when Harry and the Twins arrived, and the only faculty members present were Dumbledore and Snape. As they entered, Snape caught his eyes and glared directly at Harry, who felt a slight tingle develop in his scar, as well as a pulse of warmth from his ring and a bit of cold from his chest. Ignoring the slightly disturbing sensation, Harry smiled pleasantly at Snape's growing frown, and sat down at the table, taking some bacon and eggs from one of the platters onto his plate. He ate quietly, ignoring the Twins' banter and trying to catch the conversation at the head table. It was not to be, as Dumbledore rose from his seat and made his way to Harry, a thin book under one arm.

"As I said last night, I have duplicated the appropriate pages from the tome of protocol for you, young Harry. Professor McGonagall should have your class schedule for you shortly, and after your Transfiguration lesson we should have your extra instruction scheduled for you. Enjoy your first day, Harry." The Headmaster left the small volume in Harry's hands, and went back to his place at the staff table.

Harry opened the book, scanning through the table of contents. Dumbledore had covered most of it the night before, and the remainder was related to his participation in Quidditch and his duties as a prefect, with long, explicit listings of his duties and suchlike. Of interest was the fact that he was banned from playing Keeper or Seeker. He mentioned this to the twins.

"Makes sense," one told him.

"Yeah, too easy to throw a game without showing it," the other added.

"You can be looking at the wrong part of the pitch-"

"And claim you didn't see it coming-"

"Or the Chaser was feinting you."

"Now fumbling as a Chaser-"

"Or missing shots as a Beater-"

"Those are too obvious."

"Course, we got a full set of Chasers already-"

"And the pair of us are Beaters-"

"So Ollie probably won't have a use for you-"

"No matter how good you are."

"Not for about four years anyway."

"No, five, that's when we graduate."

"Could put you on reserve though-"

"Better to lock you in early-"

"Before the other teams-"

"Try and recruit you."

Harry nodded. "Sounds logical to me. But I've never been on a broom before, so maybe I'm no good on one." During their conversation, more people had begun to drift down into the hall, and the Staff table was now full. Harry grabbed some toast and ate, as Ron and Hermione settled in beside him.

"Morning, mate!" Ron said, before loading a huge amount of food onto his plate and digging in with a will. Hermione sniffed in disdain, and took much smaller portions, eating daintily. Harry just snickered, and leaned closer to the twins. "He always eats like that?"

"Oh yeah," one twin replied. Harry thought it might be Fred, but he wasn't certain.

"Hates eating leftovers, you see-"

"So Ronniekins makes sure to polish it off-"

"Before mum can clear the table."

Harry looked between the two, and said, "You know, that's very eerie, the way you two alternate speaking." He looked thoughtfully at them, and asked, "You sure you don't read each other's minds?"

The twins eyed Harry, put on thinking faces, then leaned close to whisper in sequence, "We're not sure either, mate." "Been doing it as long as we could talk." "Never thought anything of it-" "Until you mentioned it of course."

Harry just grinned. "Gentlemen, would you be interested in a business transaction?" At the curious looks from Gred and Forge, he continued, "I need to do an independent research project for Dumbledore. Studying your connection might be fun, and useful for the two of you if you can learn more about how to control it. What do you say?"

The twins stared at Harry, then at each other, then held out their hands to shake. "As long as you lab rat some of our new pranks-" "We'll lab rat your mind study." A double handshake sealed the deal just as McGonagall came around to hand out class schedules. As she handed the parchment sheet to Harry, he asked, "Professor, would you please ask Headmaster Dumbledore if he could meet with me later today? I have a topic for my research project and I would like to get his approval so I may begin."

"I shall ask him for you Mister Potter, but start of term is a busy time," the older woman replied, countenance stern. She eyed the two Weasley twins and her lips thinned. "And you should not hang around a pair of troublemakers like those two. Messrs Weasley, if you are caught pranking anyone this week your detention will be served with Professor Snape. He has a stack of dirty cauldrons he found in one of the dungeon storage rooms waiting for you." She turned away and continued on, handing out the rest of the class schedules. The twins simply smiled.

"Next week then, oh brother of mine?"

"But of course. We can't leave the first-years prankless."

"Wouldn't be fair to them, not getting to see the Weasleys in action."

"Quite right, quite right. More time for planning at least." The twins rose and bid Harry their goodbyes before moving down to talk to another older student Harry assumed was their friend Lee Jordan.

Ron groaned as he read their schedule. "Double Potions with the Slytherins first thing. It's like they're trying to make us quit right from the get-go."

"Why," asked Hermione. "Is there something wrong with Slytherin?"

"Just Snape," Ron replied. "He's head of Slytherin, and he likes to play favorites. We'll be down a hundred points by the end of the morning."

Harry shrugged and put his parchment in a pocket of his robes, checking that his holly and phoenix-feather wand was securely strapped to his wrist. His iron wand was still in his trunk, one of the few things in the fourth compartment that would stay there long term. Turning to Ron, he said, "I hope not. I was rather looking forward to Potions, it sounds dead useful. I read the whole book twice this summer." He left unsaid that he'd also read through some of the older years' books.

Ron looked at him as if he'd grown another head, while Hermione was starry-eyed over the thought of someone who liked to study as much as her. Harry nodded to them and said, "Now if you will excuse me, I need to go fetch my books for the day."

* * *

After Harry retrieved his knapsack and his Potions, Charms, and Transfiguration books, he met Hermione, Ron, and the other first-years on their way to the Potions room, deep in the dungeons. Just then, he realized his cauldron and ingredients were still in his room. "Oh dear, I hope we didn't need to bring our own supplies today," he said quietly to Ron.

"No," Ron replied, "Percy told me that our stuff should just show up at our seats. The house elves don't mind the work, it's a snap of the fingers to them."

When they arrived at the designated room, the door was still closed and locked. The Slytherin contingent came down the corridor, haughty and superior looks on their faces, and Harry saw Draco among the group. Shifting past Ron, he nodded to the pale boy at the head of the group, trying to keep his face pleasant. "Good morning, Draco. I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting the rest of your group."

Draco's superior smirk faltered for a moment, before one of the boys stepped forward. "Blaise Zabini, Mister Potter. It's good to see you looking healthy, my father heard about your relatives." He held out his hand, and Harry shook it, smiling ruefully. "I wasn't aware that my home situation was common knowledge, Mister Zabini."

"Blaise, please. When I hear my last name I always think someone is looking for my father. He was in charge of interrogating your uncle to justify your removal under the Underaged Wizard Protection statute." Blaise's eyes narrowed. "I've never seen father so angry."

Harry sighed, and saw that the classroom door was now open. "I'm rid of them now, thanks to Professor McGonagall. I hope your father wasn't too rough with them. And please, call me Harry." Not quite turning his back to the Slytherin, he made to enter the classroom with a small gesture for the others to follow him.

Ron, however, was visibly upset, and interjected his opinion once they were inside with a shout of "Oi! Don't feel sorry for those leeches Harry! They made you live in a cupboard for eight years, wearing your cousin's ratty hand-me-downs, doing all their work! It's Muggles like them that give the rest a bad reputation!"

"Ron!" Harry yelled, but the cat was out of the bag now. The other students began whispering among themselves, and even Draco looked appalled. Harry slunk toward a seat and saw his cauldron on the desk, so he sat down next to it, putting his book on the tabletop.

"How dare a bunch of Muggles treat a wizard like a house elf!" he roared. "Especially the heir to a pureblood family! Don't worry, Harry, my father will hear of this!"

As Professor Snape turned the corner to enter his classroom full of incompetent first-years, he heard the Gryffindors and the Slytherins in the room, with occasional yells. His Slytherins sounded about ready to do murder. He stormed forward into the room, his robes billowing behind him, and whirled on the nearest Gryffindor. He sneered, "What have we here? Fighting in my classroom, Mister Weasley?"

An outraged Draco spun to face his Head of House, and realized he was making a scene. Composing himself as best he could, he said, "We were just discussing Harry's absolutely unacceptable treatment by his Muggle relatives, Professor." Blaise nodded, adding, "Weasley let slip that Harry's relatives confined him to a cupboard and forced him to work like a house elf, sir. We were merely expressing our disappointment with his home life."

Harry sighed, and hung his head. Snape looked at the assembled Gryffindors and Slytherins, and realized that not only weren't they arguing with each other, they were actually in agreement! In the privacy of his own mind, he allowed himself a satisfied smirk at seeing the Outcasts getting along with someone other than themselves. Outwardly, he merely frowned and said, "As interesting as this gossip about Mister Potter's home life may be, you are all late and unprepared for class. Given the nature of the disturbance, five points from all of you." He spotted Harry about to open his mouth, and said, "Except you, Potter. Unlike the rest of these dunderheads, you appear to be ready for class." Not that I could take points from him anyway, Snape mused to himself, and he watched the students scurry for their seats. On the one hand, it was almost infuriating that he was unable to truly punish the boy. On the other, after Minerva had stormed into the castle in a fuming rage and begun sharply accusing the Headmaster of aiding and abetting the torture of young Potter, he had been extremely amused to see the horror on the Headmaster's face. Apparently the old man hadn't been paying very close attention to the boy, depending on the blood wards to keep him safe.

The meeting about proper treatment of Harry Potter that the staff had held the night after the Sorting had further cautioned Snape's attitude. Any staff member favoring or harping on a member of Merlin house could be immediately dismissed or censured by a vote of the staff. He had enough enemies already, there was no sense in pushing his luck just to get a few digs at the Potter brat.

Harry, noting the shock on several of the Slytherins' faces, mumbled a quiet, "Thank you, sir." Then he pulled his second-year potions book out of his bag as well, it had some extra instructions on ingredient preparation that might be useful.

Snape merely observed his latest batch of students as they wandered about, occasionally picking up their cauldron and moving it to sit near their friends. Once the students were settled, he began his usual first-year speech, pacing in front of the room. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there will be no silly wand waving in this class I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death, assuming you aren't as big a group of dunderheads as your poor behavior this morning indicates." He turned sharply to Harry, to get what satisfaction he could. "What would I get if I added Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood, Mister Potter?"

Harry blinked in surprise, and gathered himself. That was in the third year potions text, he'd read that entry last night when he was having trouble sleeping. "Er, isn't that the last step in Draught of Living Death, sir?"

Snape frowned ever so slightly, then caught himself and blanked his face. The boy shouldn't have known that, which was why he'd asked. "And where would I find a bezoars?"

Harry replied, "I don't know that one sir. I only got through the first and second year books over the summer." Then, glancing around, he added, "But there is a jar over there filled with them." He pointed, and indeed there was a clay jar labeled 'Bezoars'.

That satisfied Snape, and with slightly less heat, he asked, "Then what is the difference between Wolfsbane and Monkshood?"

"They're the same plant sir. Muggles have another name for it, but it escapes me." Harry straightened in his desk. This was beginning to unnerve him.

Snape, however, smiled thinly at him. "A bezoars is a stone found in the stomach of a goat, and is an antidote to most poisons. Which is the reason I keep a large stock of them on hand, too many of my students do not pay attention." Harry's quill began moving in his hand, and Snape turned to the rest of the class, seeing them sitting still. "And why is Potter the only one taking notes?" The quiet cacophony of rapidly scritching quills filled the room. Snape strode to the board. Tapping it with his wand, instructions began to scrawl themselves over the surface. "This is a simple potion for curing boils. Begin." He began walking about, keeping a sharp eye on the students. One could never be too careful about watching for potential disasters.

Harry turned to see that Neville was at the table next to him, working with Seamus Finnegan, and Neville was pale and shaking. Harry sighed, and turned to the page in his book with the same potion. Not looking at his partner, he whispered, "Just follow the directions exactly and everything will be fine. Go slow, take your time, and read it through a couple times to make sure you know what you're doing. You can handle this, Neville."

Putting actions to words, he grabbed Ron's hand, as the redhead had been about to start the potion off by adding the bat toenails without grinding them properly. "Hey mate, might want to wait for me, eh?"

Slowly and carefully, Harry demonstrated to Ron, Neville, and Seamus how each solid ingredient was to be prepared, then placed the resulting powders, cubes, and shreds on small squares of paper. Snape was stalking past their tables, and saw the three watching Harry. With a sneer, he asked, "And why aren't you and Finnegan working on your potion, Longbottom?"

Neville stammered, "H-harry's been sh-showing us h-how to u-use the mortar and p-pestle, sir. I've never done that before." Ron and Seamus nodded their heads in agreement, and Snape turned his attention to Harry's piles of ingredients. "It appears your time among the Muggles was not entirely wasted, Potter. Carry on."

Finishing the grinding of the bat toenails, Harry turned to Neville and Seamus. "You'd better get to work, there's not much time left to spare."

* * *

The period came to a close, and Snape made his way through the classroom, inspecting the results of the brewing. Many were vanished outright, including Crabbe and Goyle's work. When Snape reached the Gryffindor half of the room, he gave Hermione's potion a "Barely acceptable" when it was a half-shade too dark. Neville and Seamus had narrowly avoided melting their cauldron in half when a slightly rattled Neville had tried to add nettles instead of powdered ash root, but Seamus had been reading the directions from the board and caught his partner just in time. Still, their potion was vanished as well, along with five points for their negligence. The mess hadn't been thick enough from what Harry could tell. The pair had missed stirring counterclockwise somewhere in their brewing.

Snape came to Harry and Ron last, and inspected their work. After a moment, he fixed a glare on Harry. "You have brewed this before." It was a statement, not a question.

Harry merely shrugged. "I had a month of nothing to do in Diagon Alley, sir. I couldn't use my wand, so I read more on Potions than on the other classes. Potions I could practice on my own, to some extent. The gentleman who runs the Apothecary was quite helpful in telling me what I had done wrong when I made mistakes."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, but his expression was otherwise unchanged. "Tolarian Toadblatt is a fine salesman, but a poor potions master. Brewing potions without supervision is extremely dangerous, and I expect to never hear of you doing so again or you will be serving detentions with me every night for a month. That said, your potion is perfectly brewed, and you and Mister Weasley receive full marks, though I expect he did little of the work."

Ron stood up indignantly. "I did too! I added the ash root!" Snape merely sneered at him and turned away, leaving Harry to bottle up their work. Speaking to the entire class over his shoulder, he said, "I want two rolls from everyone who did not complete the potion on the proper way to prepare it. Mister Potter, I want two rolls on how you could have salvaged Longbottom's mess, since you were helping him. Dismissed."

Harry quickly cleaned his cauldron, and joined the flow of students leaving the dungeons. Hermione was incensed, and began to complain quietly, muttering to herself. "I did everything just as the book said! Just because it wasn't perfect is no reason to take points off! It's not like I've ever done this before."

Harry caught her words, and dropped back to speak quietly to her. "Listen, Hermione. With a boil-curing potion, what you did is minor. The potion might have worked, but not as well. On something more complicated, not slicing your nettles thinner could make the potion explode, or kill the person you gave it to. Imperfect potions are too dangerous. Professor Snape just wants us to be as perfect as possible."

Hermione sniffed and looked away. "Says the boy who got full marks."

Harry raised a mocking eyebrow. "Oh? I'll agree that his teaching method leaves something to be desired, but everything I've read says he knows his potions. He's the youngest in history to earn his mastery you know. And besides, he gave me just as much homework as you."

Hermione didn't answer, and sped up her pace to leave Harry behind. The bespectacled boy merely shrugged again, and walked along with the Gryffindors to get a quick lunch, then it was off to their next class, Charms.

* * *

As the diminutive Professor Flitwick called roll, Harry had to snicker at the tiny man who suddenly fell off his desk when he reached the name "Potter, Harry". The whole class was doing the same, and the muffled laughter got the Charms instructor to laugh as well. "I don't know why I'm so surprised, after the scene last night," Flitwick said to the class as he regained his perch. When roll call was complete, he turned his attention completely to the students. "Today, we will be working with one of the easiest of charms, a minor levitation spell. I shall demonstrate. The incantation is 'Wingardium Leviosa', and the wand motion is a swish and flick. Observe." The small man drew his wand, and performed the motions with a clearly spoken, "Wingardium Leviosa!" A large quill began floating off his desk, following the movement of his wand. He settled it back in its stand, and told the class. "Each pair of students will find a feather in front of them. Practice with this, and if you do well enough we will move on to heavier objects."

Harry was partnered with Ron, and he motioned for the redhead to go first. Ron gripped his wand, and incanted, "Wingardium Leviosaa!" while jabbing his wand at the feather. When it didn't move, he scowled. Behind him, Hermione was partnered with Lavender Brown, and the bushy-haired witch sighed in exasperation. "It's Levi-o-sa, not Levio-saa. Watch." And with a perfect incantation and movement, her feather raised gently to the ceiling. Flitwick applauded happily, and Harry realized that a large portion of the class was looking at him. Getting a solid grip on his wand, he took a deep breath, and performed the movement, clearly saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

A warm feeling developed in Harry's chest, becoming almost burning as he completed the spell.

The feather remained perfectly still and silent.

Flitwick peered at him. "Most odd. Your motion was correct, and your pronunciation was sound. Ah well, perhaps you just need practice."

Fortunately, Harry was saved from further scrutiny by Seamus, who had just performed the wrong motion and made his feather explode. He left Ron to work at the feather while he stared at his wand, turning it over and over in his hands.

* * *

By the end of Charms, Harry had managed to get the feather hovering a few inches off the desk, but the strain was showing on his face. His hair, normally an orderly cascade that ended just above his ears, was now disheveled, and his face was sweaty. His chest ached, but that was fading as a cooling sensation spread from his ring. Flitwick had been occupied with escorting Seamus to the hospital wing for the burns from his exploding feather, so Harry escaped the class drained but having completed the task. Walking next to him, Ron gave him a glance, and said, "Maybe you should go to the hospital wing too, you don't look so good mate."

Harry shook his head. There was a slightly nervous undertone to his exhausted voice as he replied, "No medics. This is nothing a little rest won't fix up. Doctors are always more trouble than they're worth."

"Come on mate, you're not afraid of Healers are you?" Ron asked with a grin.

Harry did not reply, instead reaching into his knapsack and pulling out a small bottle of dark soda. He'd smuggled a whole crate of his favorite soft drink into his trunk, and the taste of carbonated sugar syrup on his tongue seemed to revitalize him instantly. Letting out a quiet sigh, Harry rapidly downed the remaining contents of the plastic bottle and put the empty one back in his pack. "Ah, that hits the spot. I feel much better." After wiping his face with his scarf, Harry set to smoothing out his hair as best he could.

"What was in that bottle, mate?" Ron asked, curious. "Didn't look like Pepper-Up Potion."

"Muggle soda with a similar name," Harry replied, glancing into a suit of armor to finish fixing his hair. "Lots of sugar and caffeine. Much better than tea or coffee." Hair more or less neatened, he sighed dramatically and said, "Ah, life would be so much crueler without Dr. Pepper."

Ron just shook his head. "You're daft, mate. Now come on, we're going to be late."

The pair hurried down the corridor, arriving just in time, only to find the classroom had no teacher. There was just a cat sitting on the desk. Ron gloated, "We're in the clear mate, she's not here." Harry groaned, and pointed at the cat on the desk, which appeared to be frowning at him as he took a seat.

"Professor McGonagall's right there, Ron. She's an Animagus."

The cat leapt off the desk, transforming midair into their missing professor. "Correct, Mister Potter, though you have the advantage of having seen my transformation before during the summer. Now sit, we have much to cover."

After a brief lecture on the nature of Transfiguration, McGonagall turned her desk into a pig and back again. She then went more into the theory of changing something into something else, which took up half of their class. Handing around some matchsticks, she said, "Now, we are going to start small and work up. Transfiguration is not a simple magic, and the more complex the change the more energy it requires. For today, you are to turn your match into a silver needle." She performed the spell, showing the correct movement to the class.

As most of the students began working at their pins, Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and seeing the match in his mind's eye. Slowly, he envisioned it turning into a needle, bright and shiny silver, and after a few moments he opened his eyes. Gripping his holly and phoenix feather wand, Harry cast the spell. As it had in charms, his chest began to burn, but this the cooling from his ring kept it from becoming painful. Moreover, his match shuddered but did nothing except become a bit shaper and grayer. Reversing the spell made him even warmer, but he continued to work at the transfiguration. Finally, after his sixth try, he gave up on making it silver and simply turned it into a needle without specifying the material. At first, it became a wooden needle, then a bone needle the next time, before he finally tried again to make it into a metal. "Change, you rotten little splinter!" he muttered under his breath, before performing the spell again. He was sweating again, and knew he only had one more of these in him.

This time, the spell worked perfectly. McGonagall, who had been watching him struggle with the material change, came over to inspect his work. When she attempted to pick it up however, she merely pulled her fingers back as if stung. "I think you have overdone your transfigurations, Mister Potter. your needle is too hot to touch. Still, full marks for you today." She moved off to check on Neville, who had made a pointy stick but nothing better.

Harry picked up the needle again, looking it over. It certainly didn't feel hot.

Shrugging, he turned it back into a match and sat back, letting his sapped strength recover.

* * *

When the rest of the class had left, Harry slowly made his way to McGonagall's desk. He was still tired, and the buzz from his Coke was wearing off. McGonagall merely frowned at him, and said, "You should make an attempt to remain within your limits, Mister Potter. You are still young yet, and your magic is still developing. Straining it unduly could cause permanent harm."

"Sorry Professor. I had a lot of trouble in Charms, it sort of wore me out before I got here." Harry did his best to look apologetic, but he simply didn't have the energy.

"Then you should have visited the Hospital Wing for a restorative before coming here," McGonagall told him. "In any event, the rest of your Professors and I have decided on a rotating schedule for your extra instruction. You will be receiving tutoring in some of the third-year elective courses, starting this coming Saturday with Arithmancy. Muggle Studies has been waived given your status as Muggle Raised, so that leaves one week each month for the other four subjects: Arithmancy, Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, and Ancient Runes. You will not, however, be taking Divination with our Professor Trelawney." The faint ghost of a smirk appeared briefly on her face, before her demeanor hardened again. "You will instead be given instruction in Astrology by the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest. Those lessons will take place at night, for obvious reasons. The Centaurs do not generally like wizards, so I suggest you be on your best behavior with them and respect what they tell you of their rules."

"I will, Professor." Harry's eyelids were starting to droop in his exhaustion, and McGonagall took pity on him, softening her tone ever so slightly. The poor boy must still be suffering from his awful treatment by those horrible relatives!

"You will have homework assigned for these lessons, at the discretion of your instructors. Essentially, the idea is to have you complete all of coursework for the third-year electives by the time you finish your second year, so that you may take the fourth year lessons for all courses when you reach your third year. Two will be the regular classes with a third on weekends. Divination will still be handled by the Centaurs, but the Headmaster thinks they will have taught you all you need for Astrology by the end of your second year." She handed him a piece of parchment with the schedule of his extra classes, and said, "On weekends where there is Quidditch, your lessons will be moved to Sunday. Now go get something to eat and visit Madame Pomfrey, you've worked yourself much to hard today."

Harry nodded wearily, and slipped his schedule into his bag. Standing with only a slight wobble, he bowed slightly to his teacher and made his way out of the lecture hall, intent on filling his growling stomach. All along the way, the heat in his chest continued to cool, and his energy seemed to return. By the time he was seated at the Gryffindor table, he felt as good as he had in Potions, even if his hair was still a mess.

Ron and a recently returned Seamus sat down on either side of him, while Neville, Hermione, and Dean Thomas sat across from them. Hermione peered at him intently, a worried frown on her face. "You don't look well, Harry. Shouldn't you go visit the Hospital Wing?"

Harry growled in irritation. "Why does everyone want me to visit the bloody medic? I'm fine!"

Neville frowned at him. "No offense Harry, but you don't look fine to me. Better than you did after Charms, though."

Harry looked over to Neville, and said, "I'm just hungry and a little tired. I'll be fine. Really."

Seamus gave him an odd glance, but the food had just appeared on the table and he forgot what he was about to say in his rush to grab the potatoes. Dean, on the other hand, gave Harry some advice. "If you don't like healers, that's one thing Harry. But you ought to get some extra sleep tonight if you aren't going to get a restorative draught."

Neville chimed in again with, "At least it's only Herbology and Defense during the day tomorrow. Astronomy's at midnight, but you can nap in the afternoon if you need to."

Hermione said, "What about History of Magic after lunch?"

Neville nodded. "Like I said, perfect time to nap. I heard about Professor Binns from one of grandmother's friends who has a grand-niece in Ravenclaw. He's a ghost, but he's also so boring that no one pays attention in his class, no to mention he only lectures on goblin rebellions and not on anything useful. The Ravenclaws just read the history books when they have an assignment."

Hermione seemed a bit put out by that. "But doesn't he get mad?"

"He's a ghost, Hermione," Neville explained. "He doesn't even look at the class anymore. He's been giving the same lectures for so long it's just a routine for him." He turned to Harry. "Besides, it's not like you need an O.W.L. in History for anything."

Harry nodded his assent to that, and the group of first-years got down to the business of eating.

* * *

As the dishes were cleared, McGonagall stopped off to speak to Harry. "The Headmaster is unfortunately busy tonight, but he will hear your request tomorrow night after dinner. I will escort you to his office then."

Harry nodded, swallowing his last bite of pudding. "Thank you, Professor."

"I must say, you look much better for having eaten," McGonagall commented, "but if your tiredness persists, I insist you visit Madame Pomfrey for a check up. Your magic should be developed enough to handle this curriculum by now, or you would not have received a letter. Difficulties such as your may be a symptom of something more dangerously wrong with you."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, before smiling back at his friends' Head of House. "I'm fine, really, I've just been having trouble sleeping lately. I've been too nervous."

That appeared to mollify the woman, and she left Harry with his friends. Standing, he said, "Don't we have homework to finish?"

* * *

Back in the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry began his homework. Two rolls on Potions from Snape, and a foot of parchment on Transfiguration from McGonagall, but nothing from Flitwick who--according to Gred and Forge--preferred to teach the theory after they'd done a few things already and seen how they worked. He sat next to Hermione, who had her books spread out before her, along with several other texts. Neville joined them, though Dean and Seamus elected to go up to their room to study in quieter quarters. When Ron tried to sneak away upstairs, Harry called, "Ron, where you going mate? Need some quiet to do your revision?"

Ron flinched, and said, "Naw, I'm just going to do it later, that's all."

Hermione didn't even put down her quill. "We're bound to get more homework tomorrow, and these assignments are due next week. If you keep putting it off, you'll just have to do it all in a rush on Sunday night, you know. You won't learn anything that way, and you certainly won't get a decent grade on it."

Harry nodded, and turned back to his paper. "Won't force you to do it, of course, they're your grades. But friends watch each other's backs, right? We're just looking out for you. Besides, If you finish now, we might have time for a game before bed."

That perked up Ron considerably, and he fetched his books. Neville looked up at Harry once Ron had gone, and said, "That was clever, Harry. And he doesn't have a Potions assignment to write, either."

"It's how I got my cousin to do his schoolwork," Harry said, still scribing away at his Potions essay. "Promise a treat when they're done, and you can make anybody do anything." He chuckled. "It's kind of like training a pet to do tricks, only you have to be sneakier."

Hermione giggled, "Why Harry, how positively Slytherin of you!"

"Not so loud!" Harry said with a wince, glancing around. Fortunately, nobody had heard. "Deserved or not, the snakes have a reputation I do NOT want."

Ron's arrival thankfully cut off any response Hermione was about to make. "So, can someone help me with the Transfiguration essay?"

"It's only twelve inches, Ronald. I'm sure you can manage." That was Hermione.

"But I don't know where to start!" the redhead moaned.

"Didn't they teach essay writing at your primary school?" Harry asked, still scribbling away at his Potions work. He'd filled one roll up now.

"What's 'Primary School'?" Neville asked. Harry rolled his eyes.

"It's a school for very young children," Hermione replied. "There's six years, starting with the five-year-olds. You learn your letters, some simple math, science, and history, learn to read and write, that sort of thing. How do wizards do it?"

Ron blinked at her, confused. "Parents, of course. My mum taught us how to read, write, and do numbers." Neville nodded in agreement. "My Grandmother hired a tutor to teach me all that, she had other things to do."

"But what about families where both parents work all day, and don't have money to hire tutors?" Hermione asked.

"Then you ask a friend of the family to do it," Neville replied. "There's not much schooling to be had until you come to Hogwarts, really."

Harry had a question to ask. "So, do they use magic to teach it all, or do you have to do it the hard way?"

"There's charms to help learn reading and writing," Ron supplied. "Mum's still working on my little sister Ginny with her numbers."

Harry sighed, and slid the first part of his essay over so Ron could see it, and motioned for Neville to look at it as well. "Okay mate, here's a short lesson on writing essays. This bit here, that's the topic sentence, it tells your reader what the rest of the paragraph is going to be about..."

* * *

Between Harry and Hermione, they'd managed to give Ron and Neville a crash course in writing papers using the simplest of formulas: the five paragraph essay. For the single foot of parchment in Transfiguration, it was more than enough, and Harry told them they could probably skip the final paragraph of conclusion by making it a single sentence, since it was such a short essay. The Potions paper had had more lines to it, and one paragraph was simply the directions copied out of the text, with the next few explaining cautions to be observed and mistakes that could be made during the brewing. Thankfully, Hermione had offered to help Neville with that assignment so that Harry could get some much needed sleep.

Harry had gone into his private room, too tired to keep his eyes open but not tired enough to sleep. It was the exactly the sort of purely physical exhaustion he loathed, with his body wanting to shut down but his mind unable to stop the swirl of thoughts. Finally, he propped himself up on a pile of pillows, set another pillow in his lap, and pulled out a copy of an obscure book he'd found in the used book store in Knockturn Alley. Titled, "The Beast Within," it appeared to be a book on becoming an Animagus, something that had interested Harry. The complex theories would hopefully help settle his mind, and with a bit of luck some of it would actually be absorbed.

He had gotten through about ten pages of the thick book before nodding off. Awaking the next morning feeling perfectly refreshed, he took a short shower and met the twins as they came down for the day. As they exchanged greetings and made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry asked, "Any plans to get into my room yet?"

"Sorry Harry-"

"We're no match for your door."

"Maybe next year, Gred?"

"Perhaps, Forge."

Breakfast was quiet, and they were eventually joined by the rest of their house, but when the owls came in to drop off the morning post, Harry murmured, "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten."

"Forgotten what, Harry?" inquired the bushy-haired witch to his left.

"When I was at King's Cross, Ron's sister Ginny helped me figure out how to get to Nine and Three Quarters. I promised her I'd write on occasion, to give Hedwig something to do."

Ron nearly chocked on his juice, but recovered and exclaimed, "Why'd you go and do that?"

Harry blushed slightly. "I've never had anyone to write to before. Never got any post either, until my Hogwarts letter came. I just thought maybe... Oh, never mind, its stupid."

Neville chuckled. "Nothing wrong with having a quill pal, Harry."

"Besides," Hermione added, with a sharp glance at Ron, "I'm sure she's lonely all by herself." Ron had given them a rundown of his family on the train ride, so they all knew Ginny was used to having her brothers around.

Ron had the grace to look sheepish. "My brothers never wrote to me either. I got over it though."

Harry shrugged. "You can write a letter too, then. Besides, you weren't the only kid in the house with your mum, it's different for you."

Hermione smiled. "We'll all write! Actually, I might just write to Mrs. Weasley instead, I've been wondering how wizards clean house. You can't just cast a cleaning charm in a room full of magical junk, right?"

Neville rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Luckily, there was a yell from further down the table to distract the students. Seamus Finnegan was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet, and the headline across the top read, "GRINGOTTS BREAK IN!" When the hubbub was over, it became clear that someone had tried to steal something the same day Harry had visited his vault, but the vault being robbed had just been emptied. Harry vaguely remembered Hagrid taking that tiny sack out of the high-security vault, but that couldn't be the same one, could it?

* * *

"Herbology," Harry stated quietly as the Gryffindors left the greenhouses, "is not my favorite subject."

Neville snickered. "Come on Harry, all we did was re-pot some plants."

"Plants that tried to choke me to death!" Harry growled, feeling at his neck. "Gah! How can you wizards stand it? Practically everything in your world is deadly!"

"It was just a Kraken Weed, Harry," Ron complained. "If you'd been paying attention you could have caught it before it got its leaves on you."

"An immature Kraken Weed at that," Hermione pointed out. "The juices in their leaves are a key ingredient in potions for treating infections."

"Why not just use some antibiotics?" Harry asked her. "Muggles take them and get better all the time!"

"Because witches and wizards have a stronger metabolism," Hermione informed him primly. "Your magic would turn the antibiotics into useless mush before they helped you." Harry merely sulked, drawing more chuckles from his companions.

"At least now you'll pay more attention to the plants around you," Neville said, holding his laughter down. "Imagine if it had been a Whomping Willow sapling! You would've had a concussion!"

The group arrived in front of their Defense classroom, another class they shared with Slytherin. Today, that contingent was quiet and reserved, though they managed to greet Harry with a modicum of pleasantness, and didn't glare at the rest of the Gryffindors. When the door to their classroom opened, the two groups filed in, sitting each on their own half of the room. Harry took a seat near the front.

When Quirrel entered, Harry realized that the man was a nervous wreck. The lecture on minor jinxes was thoroughly boring, filled with stammers and jumps of fright, and even Harry managed to cast a Jelly-Legs Jinx by the end of the class. His chest burned once again, but the cooling sensation from his ring appeared to be fixing it more quickly than before.

Briefly, as he built up his power and the inferno in his breast heated again before being cast into a spell and dropping Ron to the floor, Harry contemplated mentioning his difficulties to someone. His ring was obviously meant to help him, but how had anyone known he would need it when Harry himself had been surprised by the sensations he felt? Then, he ruthlessly squelched the thought. They'd send him to the bloody medic if he mentioned it, and then all Hell would break loose! No, he wasn't going to say a bloody word, he was going to suffer through and figure out how to control this. Nothing good ever came from having to see a medic.

Ron, having just cast the counterjinx on himself, almost fell over again at the intense concentration on Harry's face. "Er, you all right mate?"

"Just making sure I've got this down, Ron." Harry smiled gleefully as a potential excuse suddenly popped into his mind. "You know, maybe being brought up by the Dursleys and believing there's no such thing as magic is what's holding me down. Half the time I still think what I see right in front of me is impossible, and belief is key in magic."

Hermione had been practicing nearby with Pavarati, and overheard Harry's musing. "So you're fighting your own subconscious then? That would explain why you have to concentrate so much harder than us, and why it takes so much effort. Your magic has been fighting itself!"

Harry nodded thoughtfully, and managed to cast a Jelly-Legs at Ron with much less effort, though it still burned him. The flash was shorter now, but Harry shuddered to think what might happen if he tried to cast a spell without the protection of his House Signet. Which begged the question once again: why did he need it in the first place?

* * *

History had, in fact, been a welcome break for Harry. He'd paid attention for all of five minutes before laying his head down on his desk and taking a nap. When Hermione had shaken him awake at the end of class, her only comment had been, "Neville was right, he IS rather boring." Harry had responded with, "Then why don't we just read the book instead?" The idea had been accepted by all four of their little group, and they had gone back to the common room for a break before dinner.

At the table, Harry had eaten heartily once again. The combination of easier classes and extra rest had done wonders for his appearance, and he wasn't sore at all. A quick shower to clean the last signs of his exertions from his body, and Harry found himself being escorted to the Headmaster's office by Professor McGonagall, his defacto Head of House. They came to a large stone gargoyle, and McGonagall stated quite clearly, "Lemon Drop." The gargoyle obediently shuffled out of the way, and McGonagall led Harry up the rotating spiral staircase to the Headmaster's office. She held the door open for him when they reached the top, and Harry entered.

Inside the shelves were cluttered with books and odd silver instruments. Harry took a brief moment to look around at everything, then turned to face the Headmaster, meeting his eyes. There was another brief burst of warmth from his chest, but Harry had learned to ignore such things years ago. The Headmaster's expression dimmed ever so slightly, then his smile returned full force. "Harry, welcome. Lemon Drop?" Harry eyed the proffered candy dish warily, but took one, offering a timid smile.

"Minerva informs me you have discovered a topic for your research project," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "Would you care to enlighten me?"

Harry grinned wickedly. "Well, the Weasley Twins have been rather nice to me ever since we got on the train to come here, sir. I couldn't help but notice they almost seem to read each other's minds. I mean, they finish each other's sentences, they think exactly alike, and even when they disagree it's almost like they share one brain." Harry paused, and seeing the intrigued look on Dumbledore's face, he went on. "I've read stories about people who can read minds, and I thought maybe that's what the Twins do, read each other's minds. Only, they aren't sure themselves how they can do it."

Dumbledore nodded, looking thoughtful. "It is an interesting thing to think about, certainly. But how would you go about investigating this bond of theirs?"

Harry was momentarily taken aback. "Er, I was thinking of putting them in separate rooms, and telling one of them something, or showing them a picture, then asking the other what they'd seen?" Harry's querulous tone indicated he hadn't thought much about it.

"That could prove a bond exists, certainly, but how would you decipher its cause, its nature?" Dumbledore asked. "There is magic that can be done purely with the mind that will allow a wizard to read the thoughts of another, but could you learn it by the end of the year?" He smiled at Harry's frown. "Keep this topic in mind, Harry. Perhaps in a few years you will have learned enough to pursue it properly. For now, perhaps something more academic in nature would be best? While your magic is still being nurtured, your mind has already come a long way." He allowed himself a small chuckle. "At least, your impeccable speech and eagerness to learn give the impression that you are wise beyond your years."

Harry nodded, smiling ruefully. "I grew up rather quickly with the Dursleys idea of discipline." Just then, Harry remembered a bit of trivia from one of his Chocolate Frog cards. "But I agree, a research project would be less stressful. Maybe a study on alchemy? It's not one of the elective subjects here at Hogwarts, and its similar to potions, my favorite subject."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even brighter as her nodded. "Yes, an excellent choice I think. I did quite a bit of work in Alchemy back in my younger years, working on uses for Dragon's Blood. I think a history of alchemy and a study of its basic principles would be an admirable project, and appropriate to your year here at Hogwarts. Feel free to ask me if you cannot find information on a subject in the regular library. My private tomes have much on the subject." Unsaid was that the offer would help him apologize for the treatment Harry had suffered the past ten years.

"Thank you, sir."

Dumbledore smiled kindly and said, "Now, I believe you have an Astronomy class in a few minutes, so perhaps you should be going." Harry took that as a dismissal, and performed a slight bow before turning on his heel and heading out the door. McGonagall remained behind, and Harry just barely heard her say, "Are you sure you should let him read those books, Albus?" before the door shut behind him.

* * *

The remainder of the week was much the same for Harry. His wand classes were still a struggle to force his magic to work correctly and ignore the pain it caused him. Potions was a welcome respite, and his perfect performance seemed to have mellowed Snape a bit towards him. At the least, the Potions Master no longer glared at him like an unwelcome pest. Being largely ignored was better for all concerned.

The entire school had now heard about Harry's former guardians the Dursleys, and one morning a deluge of Howlers assaulted Dumbledore during breakfast. The cacophony was so great that it drove the students out of the Hall with the myriad of unintelligible screeches. Harry had laughed privately after that, and the rest of the school seemed more willing to at least talk to him now. After all, he was now the Boy-Who-Lived-Under-the-Stairs, and thus much more human.

But today was Friday, and the Gryffindors and Slytherins were marching out to the grounds for their lesson on brooms. Harry was a bit confused as to why the Purebloods--who likely owned their own brooms and thus had practice with them--were required to attend as well, and said as much to Draco when the Slytherin approached. "Why are you out here, Draco? You already know how to ride a broom, I expect."

Draco sniffed and put his nose in the air. "It is a school tradition, of course."

Ron rolled his eyes. Harry might tolerate the Snakes, but not him. "You just want to try and show off to the rest of us."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure it's a safety procedure. This way, if you have trouble with a broom, extra lessons can be arranged for you."

Before Ron could think up a suitable retort, Madame Hooch was already giving the assembled first years their instructions. At Harry's command of "Up!" his broom sprang immediately to hand, but before he could fully grasp it fell again. As second "Up!" got it firmly in his grasp.

When Neville kicked off much too hard and fell to the ground, Harry rushed straight over. "Neville! You all right, mate?"

Neville wore a painful grimace. "Think my arm's busted."

Madam Hooch shook her head. "And you're lucky you broke nothing else! Now, let's get you to the hospital wing. the rest of you keep both feet planted on the ground, you hear me?"

Draco spotted something on the grass as Hooch and Neville left. "Hey, look at this! Longbottom dropped his little toy!" It was the Rememberall Neville had received just the other day. Draco tossed it from hand to hand for a moment.

"Come on, Draco, I'll give it back to him." Harry held out his hand.

"Now where's the fun in that?" Draco asked. "I think I'll go leave it somewhere he can find it later. Like the ledge of his window!" Draco took off on his broom, cackling with glee.

Harry sighed, and turned to Blaise. "When Hooch gets back, tell her I went to keep an eye on Draco, okay?" Without waiting for a reply, he pushed off from the ground and began chasing after Draco.

It wasn't a smooth ride by any means. The broom seemed to fight his every command. But eventually, Harry caught up with Draco just outside Gryffindor Tower. Draco was just casting a sticking charm on the Rememberall when Harry startled him. "Come on, don't be such a prat, Draco."

Unfortunately, Draco dropped the ball in his surprise. Harry immediately dove after it, and just barely managed to catch the ball before he had to pull up and avoid crashing. Unluckily for him, Hooch had seen the whole thing, and immediately began berating him for his foolishness.

"Stupid boy, you could've gotten yourself killed! You're lucky you didn't crash! I saw the way that broom was fighting you!"

Harry remained silent, and fingered the Rememberall he had caught. It was too bad he couldn't play Seeker, he thought, he'd made a great catch.

* * *

Oliver Wood came looking for Harry in the library that night while he was working on putting together a list of books on Alchemy. "Listen Potter, I know you can't play Seeker, and that's what we really need, but I think I can convince one of the girls to switch to that position if you want to play Chaser for Gryffindor. You've got natural talent, especially if you were having broom trouble and still made that catch."

Harry was nonplussed. "Er... Are you sure? I mean, aren't there other people who might want to play Seeker?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "Our Quidditch team hasn't won the cup in a decade. No one's really interested in playing for us who isn't already on the team. With enough practices, I bet you'll fit right in."

"Uh, well, I guess I'll at least try out then. As long as practice doesn't get in the way of my extra lessons, that is."

"Extra lessons?" Oliver inquired.

"Yeah, I take extra lessons on Saturdays in each of the third year electives. It's part of being in Merlin. I'm supposed to get a lot of homework, so my nights are going to be pretty full already."

Oliver frowned. "All right then, we'll just have to practice on Sunday, and practice longer. I'll let you know when your first practice is."

"But-"

"Harry," Oliver interrupted, "I don't care if you're the worst player ever to sit on a broom, we need bodies to fill positions. You're the only first-year allowed to play, and nobody from second-year up wants the Seeker spot on Gryffindor. The best I can do is make Katie Bell take Seeker and give you a Chaser slot, and hope that it'll be enough. Besides, Angelina and Alicia are good enough for three Chasers as is."

Harry sighed. "Okay, I'll do it. But homework comes first for me, okay?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "I'll see you Sunday after breakfast."

* * *

Saturday dawned bright and cheery, and a tired Harry made his way down to an early breakfast. He'd stayed up fairly late the night before getting all of his weekend assignments done, and was just now realizing that it hadn't been a terrific idea. Lazily nibbling at a scone, he managed to find some tea in one of the pitchers and poured himself a cup of the steaming liquid. The caffeine therein did wonders for making him more alert.

"Morning Harry!" called Fred, as the twins sat themselves on either side of their dark-haired apprentice.

"Late night?" asked George.

Harry sighed. "Just finishing all my homework so I'll have the weekend free. I've got Arithmancy lessons in a couple hours."

"Ah, sitting extra classes," George said with a sigh as he took a piece of toast.

"Pure madness if you ask me," Fred added, grabbing some bacon and eggs.

"Especially as you're on the team!" George exclaimed around his mouthful of bread.

"Ollie's gonna want to work you hard-"

"Probably too hard, actually-"

"So you'd best get plenty of sleep tonight!"

Harry nodded. Taking some more eggs, he said, "That's the plan, anyway. Besides, Hermione, Ron, Neville, and I are all writing letters this afternoon."

"Complaints?" asked Fred.

"Pranks?" George countered.

"No, just writing to a lonely little girl who's too young for Hogwarts and misses her family," Harry said with a smirk.

Fred and George blinked, then looked each other in the eye.

"It couldn't be..." they said in unison.

"Ginerva Weasley," Harry said, still smirking, "helped me figure out how to get to Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters when no one else thought to explain it to me, not McGonagall, not Dumbledore, and certainly not Hagrid. We talked a bit, she mentioned how much she was going to miss her brothers and how much she hates cleaning, so I thought I'd do something nice and send her a letter or two." He rolled his eyes. "Then Ron made a fuss, and suddenly we're all going to send her letters."

The twins grinned. "If we got you a toilet seat..."

"Would you autograph it for us?"

Harry just nodded and smiled.

* * *

Arithmancy was...interesting, Harry decided later. Professor Vector had an unusual teaching style, one which suited their one-on-one sessions much better than the group lectures he usually gave. But the first problem had been immediately obvious.

"Where is your textbook?" was the first thing Vector said, before Harry had even set both feet in the classroom.

Harry groaned, and smacked his face with his palm. "I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, when I did my shopping I wasn't expecting to be placed in Merlin."

Vector nodded. "Very well. There are several spare texts from previous years in my office. I will loan you one, but you had best place an order for all your extra books before next week. Professor Kettleburn is not likely to give you any instruction if you have done no prior reading."

"I understand, sir."

"Good. Now, let us begin."

The next four hours were one long discussion on magical formulae, with a break halfway through for a short lunch of sandwiches eaten in the classroom. Pieces of it were similar to the algebra Harry knew from Muggle school, and some of it was totally new. Several numbers had particular meaning to wizards, like prime numbers being the only numbers of wand motions which would create a successful spell. Vector's lessons were taught in Socratic style, meaning he would often ask a question related to the discussion and expect an answer from Harry, whether he knew the correct answer or not. It was very thought provoking, and the discussion remained mostly rooted in the topic at hand. Harry left the room with an assignment for two feet of parchment on the uses of the first seven prime numbers, and a borrowed copy of his textbook.

He almost missed dinner while working on the report, and it was Hermione of all people who had to break him away from studying.

* * *

The evening found Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Gred and Forge clustered around one of the larger tables in the Gryffindor common room. Each had parchment, ink, and quill before them, and the Twins had somehow acquired a toilet seat which they were keeping in a bag under the table. True to her word, Hermione was addressing her letter to Mrs. Molly Weasley, though the rest of the group had convinced her to pare down her list of questions from twenty to just three and to keep her letter conversational. Ron was having the hardest time of all, having barely written the first line of his letter. Never having met Ginny, Neville had elected to write his letter to Arthur Weasley--a man he had met on a few occasions at Ministry functions--and ask about his work in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, and whether any wizarding plants like Kraken Weed had ever been abused in similar ways.

Harry was writing two letters. The first was a short letter to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley about why they were writing all these letters.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny Weasley,

Hello! My name is Harry Potter, and I would like to thank your daughter for her help in getting me onto platform Nine and Three Quarters. While we were conversing, Ginny mentioned her brothers had all gone to Hogwarts and she was already feeling a bit lonesome. I promised to write, and get her brothers to do the same.

When your son Ron, who is a great friend of mine, heard I was planning to write, he was a bit concerned about my motives, but my other friends Neville Longbottom and Hermione Granger decided they would write letters too, and that seems to have calmed him down considerably. Hermione's parents are Muggles, so she's very curious about wizard life, and I hope you don't mind if her letter is the longest of all.

My very first friend in the wizarding world was a Weasley, and she helped me before she knew I was the Boy Who Lived. I won't forget that sort of kindness. Expect to hear from all of us every once in a while. I look forward to meeting all of you in person sometime in the future.

Sincerely,

Harry Potter

His second letter was a polite 'thank you' for Ginny's help at Kings Cross, and a bit of stuff they had covered in their first classes.

Dear Ginny,

I hope this finds you well, and not too bored.

Fred and George managed to get a Hogwarts toilet seat just like they threatened, and I had to autograph it. We made sure to cast a bunch of cleaning charms on it, so don't worry about it being dirty or gross. They tell me nobody uses the bathroom they got it from anyway.

Classes here are a wonder for someone like me. I was raised by Muggles you know, so the magic is really new and different. I'm not that great with a wand, but anything you've heard about Professor Snape, the Potions Master, you can forget. He's really not a bad guy as long as you don't let him intimidate you. It really helps if you already know a little bit about cooking. Don't ever let Snape hear this, but Potions is a lot like Muggle cooking, and I've been doing that since I was four.

The twins mentioned your family doesn't have a lot of money, so I put in an owl order from Flourish and Blott's to get you a few potions books. Ask your mum if you can practice some of the easy ones. Practice makes perfect, and since you aren't casting any spells you aren't breaking the Underage Magic Law.

But seriously, how do you wizards live past your third birthdays? Kraken Weeds, Doxies, Pixies, gah! Adult Muggles would run gibbering in terror at the things you deal with as kids! How can you stand it?

Oh, Ron's reminded me that I should tell you I'm being picked as a Chaser for Gryffindor. I know, first years aren't supposed to have brooms, but that's the other thing I didn't want to brag about: I'm in Merlin House. The very first to be sorted there in a thousand years. It's not all fun though. I get to have a broom, and stay out after curfew, but I also have to take extra classes on the weekends, and do an independent study project every year. I'm also not allowed to play at Seeker or Keeper in Quidditch, which Oliver Wood--he's Captain of the Gryffindor team--he says its a crime, because I'm the best Seeker he's ever seen. He thinks I'll take Katie Bell's spot as Chaser while she takes Seeker, and we can train each other. I hope it works.

Fred's just told me that the others are done, so I should wrap this up. Hedwig really likes bacon, and I've told her she's to wait for the replies so they won't tax your aging Errol.

Your Friend,

Harry Potter

* * *

Author's Notes:

And the chapters just keep getting longer! Hopefully this will be the longest, but the story breaks when it's ready.

So here we see more of the difference in how Harry's wand skills operate, and what his extra classes are. I view Merlin House as a sort of combination of knowledge-hungry Ravenclaw and hard-working Hufflepuff, hence the extreme load of schoolwork Harry has to do. Quidditch fans, sorry, but I originally was planning to have him not play at all to avoid having to rewrite all those games. My alpha prereader convinced me otherwise, but as a Chaser I'll at least be able to write the games from a different perspective.

Harry's aversion to 'medics' is a learned response. I will say no more on the subject until it is time to reveal it in the story, near the end of first year (probably four or five more chapters, I won't drag this out rehashing things we already understand).

To all those reviewers who mentioned that Merlin House isn't a unique mechanic: I said I've never read a story using it, so it's new to me. I'll willingly admit that I haven't read a whole lot of what's out there. I have a full time job to deal with, plus overtime, and I read a lot of other fandoms than just Harry Potter fanfics. I've updated my Favorite Authors list, but the ones on the page are merely the most active or best writers out of a VERY long list of bookmarks. On the positive side, I'm less likely to be influenced by fanfic clichés if I haven't read them, right? And as several people have mentioned, iron is--while not necessarily NEW as a wand type--at least fairly uncommon. Hopefully what I've done to Harry is unique enough to the community the occasional cliché will be forgiven.

I had two specific reasons for Harry being pen pals with Ginny. The first was from a character perspective: Harry doesn't have a lot of friends, even in canon, and my Harry is a bit more courteous that canon, so why wouldn't he send a thank-you note to someone who was nice to him? At the time, this was the first person his own age who'd ever shown him any real kindness, and like most people, you never forget your first friend. And as you can see, Hermione is asking the questions about stoves and whatnot, whereas Harry is just trying to be nice to someone who was nice to him.

The second reason is plot related. Harry is currently a Ward of the State, and has nowhere to call home. I haven't made a final decision, but the Weasleys are certainly in the running as his foster family. Then again, so are the Longbottoms, and possibly the Malfoys depending on how far I want to go redeeming them. Heck, maybe I'll clear Sirius before the end of the year and Harry can finally move back in with his rightful guardian. I simply don't know yet. But the way I've written it, he can't go back to Privet Drive, and McGonagall wouldn't let him if he could. I'm personally of the opinion that Dumbledore's constant optimism was the reason he never investigated into Harry's home situation, and therefore didn't know how bad the abuse was. The addressing of envelopes I had always assumed to be magical, since Harry never had to put a full destination on his letters to Sirius, just the name. So it's possible Dumbledore really didn't know about the cupboard under the stairs, and the addressing spell was just hyper accurate to ensure delivery. Thus, no one in the magical world who could do anything about it really understood just how rotten the Dursleys were. I mean, bars on the windows?

And before anyone complains about Snape's OOCness: I feel I explained his behavior in the story well enough. Harry's a loser with a wand, but he's got real potential with potions. It's been done, I know, but if it wasn't Potions it would've had to be Herbology, and we know almost nothing about the subject. Being a History genius would've just been too silly to consider. You might also note that none of Harry's extra classes require wand work either. Unfortunately, the only one we know much about is Creatures, and that was tainted by Hagrid's blatant disregard for safety. Good thing there's tons of stuff about Astrology on wikipedia, I shouldn't make too much of an ass of myself with that class.

I'd also like to point out ahead of time that Dumbledore having Harry do his report on Alchemy was a last-minute realization that there was no other way Harry would find out about the Stone. Harry and Hagrid are only acquaintances in this story, so there won't be as many opportunities for him to dig information out of the man. We'll just have to see where it goes.

Next time: Quidditch practice, more weekend classes, and the start of Harry's Alchemy report.


	4. Wand Waving Woes

Obligatory Standard Disclaimer: Characters and locations copyright J.K. Rowling, her publishers, et all (except Kraken Weed, that one belongs to Piers Anthony). I'm merely borrowing her setting as a writing exercise, no profit is being made, and besides, if I was making money on this you would be paying to read it, wouldn't you? So settle in, enjoy the read, and don't do anything rash.

Chapter 04 - Wand Waving Woes

Sunday morning dawned bright and early, and a groaning Harry forced himself out of bed to look at his clock. It was an ancient spring-wound model he'd picked up at an antique shop in muggle London, since even a battery-powered clock would be useless at Hogwarts. Winding the device, he noted that it was just after seven, and Oliver had asked Harry to meet him on the pitch at half past eight for some broom drills before the rest of the team joined them. Sluggishly going through his morning routine of showering and brushing his teeth, Harry dressed himself, and made his way down to the Great Hall for an early breakfast.

The Staff Table was still empty, as was the rest of the hall, but when Harry sat down a small plate of toast, eggs, and sausage appeared before him, fading in slowly as it always did. Mumbling a quiet "Thanks", Harry tucked in, waking up more as the warm food filled him. By the time he had finished drinking a steaming cup of tea, Oliver Wood was just coming in for his own breakfast, along with a few other students from various houses. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall were also present now, having entered at some point while Harry was concentrating on his food.

Oliver took a seat next to Harry, quickly scarfing down a piece of toast from the platter that had appeared on the table as the tables began to crowd with students. Harry chuckled at his captain. "We've got plenty of time, Oliver, I got a lot of my homework done last night. I should be able to get it finished after dinner if we don't wipe ourselves out today. Or at least, if we finish early enough for a nap before dinner."

Oliver blinked owlishly at Harry, and let out a small laugh. "I wouldn't worry about that, Harry. Katie has plans to review our plays with you whenever you've got some spare time to sit down and look over the playbook, so the theory should settle in pretty easily. It's the physical stuff we're going to work on today, like reflexes and intuition. We'll probably finish by lunch so you can work on the playbook while you recover. No offense, but I've heard from the twins just how wiped out you get in your wand classes. We'll need to set aside some time to get you into shape."

Harry shrugged. "The Dursleys didn't really feed me too well when I lived with them. The only exercise I got was running away from bullies at school, or mowing the lawn. But the classes is mostly just my magic getting used up. You don't need magic to do anything to the broom, do you?"

Oliver's eyes had narrowed at the easy way Harry had said his guardians starved him, but he cleared his mind of his fury and focused on his newest protege. "No, even Squibs and Muggles can ride brooms, so that shouldn't be any trouble." Then, he noticed Harry wasn't eating anything. "Did you already have breakfast?"

"Yeah."

Oliver's eyes narrowed at how clean Harry's plate looked. "How much?"

"A piece of toast, two links, and a scoop of eggs, plus my tea. Why?"

Frowning, Oliver scooped some more eggs and sausage onto Harry's plate. "You need to eat more. And have some juice. You're scrawny enough as it is. I don't want you fainting in the middle of practice."

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry ate his way through the second plate and a gobblet of orange juice. When he was done, he let out a quiet groan and rubbed his stomach. "Too full..."

Oliver just shook his head and pulled Harry to his feet. "I expect you to eat just as much at lunch and dinner, and keep to it every day. Otherwise I'm sending you to Madame Pomfrey."

THAT got Harry's attention quite quickly! "I'd rather serve detention with Filch!" he cried in an angry--and slightly panicky--voice.

Nonplussed by Harry's reaction, Oliver said in a placating voice, "Just for a check up Harry, Merlin! If you haven't been eating right, it could impact your performance. Magic burns a lot of energy too, you know, and we Wizards have different metabolisms than Muggles. Bad enough your aunt and uncle starved you through your growing years, but I won't let you do it to yourself." Holding Harry's arm lightly, he led the younger boy out the doors toward the pitch.

.o0O0o.

Oliver handed Harry a worn Cleansweep 4 from the school broom shed. "It's not much, but until your new broom gets here it'll have to do. McGonagall ordered a Nimbus 2000 for you when I told her you were on the team, but owl post won't have it here until next weekend at least."

Harry nodded. "So in other words, if I suck this weekend it might just be the broom?"

Oliver winced. "Not how I would have put it, Harry, but yeah. Now, how familiar are you with Quidditch? Obviously, you've never seen a game, but..."

"I saw the cover of 'Quidditch Through the Ages' at Flourish and Blott's, but I've never been athletic so I didn't bother getting a copy. Hogwarts: A History talked about it a little, but other than the names of the positions and the balls, that's all I've got. Apparently the rules are so well known among wizards nobody thought to mention them."

"Right then. I'll give you the basics, and when the rest of the team gets here we'll do some drills. I'll just keep the Bludgers and the Snitch locked up for now, we don't need them running amok." After a quick review of the positions and their responsibilities, Oliver explained the basics of scoring, and some common Chaser plays that were considered the basics of the basics. By the time he had finished, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie had joined them, brooms in hand. Fred and George could be seen at the doors to Hogwarts, making their way down to the pitch at an easy pace.

"All right, everyone, let's get started. First, I'd like Harry to just watch you girls go through some of the drills. Harry, stick close to Katie, but not so close you interfere. After we go through a couple scoring drills, we'll sub you in for Katie and see how you do. Ready?"

Harry's ancient broom creaked loudly in protest as he mounted up, but he got into the air well enough. Hovering above and behind his tutor, Harry followed Katie's manuevers as best he could while the trio of Chasers went through some of their plays. Oliver was in his Keeper's position, minus his pads, and Fred and George were wailing away with their bats trying to unseat their teammates. They had charmed a Bludger so that it would soften when it struck a person, since Harry wasn't wearing pads yet and there was no point in sending someone to the Hospital Wing this early in the day.

Harry's skills proved to be more than up to snuff, and his instincts seemed to be exactly what Oliver was looking for. He'd managed to follow Katie's movements exactly for the past hour, ducking, rolling, and even miming passes and catches in perfect syncronization. But just as Katie was about to toss the ball past Oliver after a great feint, the Bludger came roaring in and Harry, paying too much attention to the plays below him, didn't see it coming until it was almost too late. In a sudden panic, he forgot he was on a broom and tried to duck, dropping fully prone on the handle and wrapping himself around the wood. The broom lurched downward in an uncontrolled dive, and when Harry saw the ground rushing up at him he tried to pull up, only to realize the broom had gone dead in his hands. Sitting upright, he made to grab for his wand, tucked into its holster on his wrist, and the broom suddenly came back to life, pulling into a flat hover.

From the hoops, Oliver shouted, "Nice dodge, Harry! Just don't drop so far next time! You don't need to pull a Wronski Feint as a Chaser!"

Harry, still hyperventilating while his racing heart returned to a more normal pulse, merely glared at Oliver's cheerful grin. Placing a hand to his chest, he felt the same heat he usually did when casting spells, just not as intense. Grumbling to himself, he said, "Note to self: never lie flat on a broom." He took his place back up in the air with the team, and noted that Fred was holding the now quiecent Bludger. George was grinning madly, and stated fervently, "He's a natural, that lad."

"Indeed he is, oh Brother mine," Fred chimed in.

"At least he can mimic our Katie,"

"But what can he do on his own?"

Oliver cut them off. "That is the question we came out to answer. Right then, Harry, you switch with Katie. Katie, I'm going to pop the Snitch into the air, you work on spotting it. And while I'm thinking of it, see Madame Pomfrey after lunch for a vision check. We'll need you in top form this year, and the Snitch is a lot smaller than a Quaffle." Katie nodded her assent, and Oliver pulled a small golden orb from his pocket, loosing it out over the pitch. Katie followed it lazily with her eyes for a moment, then turned back to watch her teammates as they formed up.

Oliver nodded to Harry. "Okay, let's see what you can do. Memorizing plays can come later. So, you're going to try and score on me while Alicia and Angelina run our regular plays, and we'll see where your instincts put you."

"Drop the newbie into the deep end and see if he can swim, eh?" Harry joked. "You're on, Oliver." And the game was on.

Harry watched Angelina break wide right with the Quaffle, while Alicia went high, charging straight at Oliver. He whirled his broom to face left, and shot out in a short arc left, angling back toward the far left hoop. When Angelina made it halfway to the hoops, Harry darted to the right, under a startled Alicia, who had just begun to break left according to their usual play. His ancient broom creaked ominously as he looped around to Angelina's right side, where he caught a pass, doubled back to the left, and put the ball into the right hoop, past a stunned Oliver who had gone to cover the left hoop.

"That was brilliant!" Alicia crowed. "Exactly the way we normally do it, except for the twist at the end where you took the long shot across the goals instead of shooting for the closest hoop. You totally faked our Keeper."

Oliver's grin threatened to overwhelm his face. "Where'd you get an arm like that, Harry? For that matter, where did you learn to dodge around like that?"

"Dodging bullies at school," Harry replied easily. "I've always been short, and none of my cousin's friends were above playing games of 'Harry Hunting.' I haven't had to do it in a while though, Dudley's been easing up on me ever since I started helping him with his homework."

"It's like those Muggles were training you to be the perfect sportsman." Katie had rejoined the group, Snitch in hand. "You'd make a great Seeker, but as a Chaser you're unpredictable."

"And that's a good thing," Fred chimed in.

"The Snakes won't see it coming," George added.

"What do you say we go over a couple of my new play ideas, now we know what Harry can do, and we'll quit for lunch?" Oliver asked. "I've got homework left to do, still."

A round of agreements later, and the Gryffindor team was back in the sky.

.o0O0o.

Lunchtime found a tired--but smiling--Harry Potter, fresh from a shower and sitting with his friends. Fred and George were on either side of Harry, while Neville, Ron, and Hermione sat across from them. As Harry picked at his food, the Twins continued to cajole him into 'just one more bite.'

"Buck up, Harry, you can finish-"

"Or do you want to get ol' Ollie mad at us?"

"I say, that's a prime pranking angle!"

"Indeed! Convince Poppy kids are starving themselves!"

"They'll be up there for days-"

"Drinking those foul nutrition potions!"

Harry dropped his fork, glaring at his redheaded tormenters. "That does it. The next person who threatens to send me up there gets my boot to their face, understand?"

All five of his tablemates stared at him in confusion. Finally, Neville asked, "Harry, what is it with you and healers anyway?"

Harry dropped his gaze to his plate, glowering at it moodily. "I don't like to talk about it. But I'm never going to a medic."

"But what if you get sick, or hurt?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Or if someone hexes you, or something?"

"Then I'll tough it out," Harry growled. "I've never been sick in my life, and there's no injury bad enough to warrant visting one of [ithose[/i people." Grabbing his fork, he speared a slice of ham and changed the subject. "So, anyone finish that Charms essay?"

.o0O0o.

The rest of that afternoon was a battle of wills in the Gryffindor Common Room. Harry's friends kept trying to get him to open up about his apparent phobia, and Harry continued to either ignore those questions or deftly change the subject. By the time Harry had finished his essays, he was ready to scream. Finally, after yet another wheedling inquiry from Hermione, who was attempting to be subtle and failing miserably, Harry slammed his Charms book shut and stood. "If you're going to keep pestering me, I'll study in my room. Good day!" And with that, off Harry marched to his iron door. Shoving it open, Harry didn't look back in time to see Hermione grab a pillow from the couch and catch the door with it before it closed.

Throwing his belongings on his bed, Harry slumped down in his desk chair, putting his head in his hands. "Idiots," he muttered. "Never setting foot in one of those butchers' offices again as long as I live. Not after last time. Damn near killed me, they did." Removing his glasses, Harry massaged his temples for a moment.

In the doorway, Hermione, Ron, and Neville were looking around at Harry, the room, everything. Fred and George nodded to each other, and got a mop they had stolen from Filch some years prior, and wedged it between the doorjamb and the handle, propping the door open. They stepped over it, sidling around the younger children to step fully into Harry's room. It was obvious Harry hadn't spent a whole lot of time decorating, since the potions rack was still empty, the bookshelves were only half full, and the walls were bare. Hanging on a hook were Harry's warmer robes, and his Gryffindor necklace. As Fred reached out to touch them, the quiet clinking of metal on stone alerted Harry that he was not alone. 

Whirling around to face his door, he gasped, "How did you get in?"

Hermione's face drooped into a guilty expression. "I, um, I caught the door with a pillow before it closed. Fred and George propped it open with a mop."

Sighing heavily, Harry nodded. "Very clever, Hermione. I'd give you points, but I don't get prefect powers until after Christmas. I'll find a reason to give you some then." Standing, he said, "Welcome to the House of Merlin, such as it is. I don't own a lot of things to decorate with."

Swallowing heavily, Neville stepped forward. "Look, Harry, I don't know why you're so worked up about Healers, but if it bothers you that much, maybe you should just go meet Madame Pomfrey. She's really nice, even if the potions taste nasty."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Medics," he spat, as though the word tasted foul, "nearly killed me trying to 'help' me. The closest thing to one I will ever visit is an optometrist, and that's a necessary evil. Unless wizards have magical glasses that automatically adjust themselves, in which case I can drop that too."

"There's got to be more to that story, Harry!" Hermione said. "Besides, magical healing is very different from Muggle medicine. No casts, just a potion to knit the bones over night! A cut can be healed with the wave of a wand, and almost no scars."

Harry blinked at that. "No needles? No knives or bandages? Just a bottle and some bed rest?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Seriously mate, there's nothing to worry about."

"What did they do to you to make you so jumpy anyway?" Fred inquired, not for the first time that afternoon.

"An accident at my Uncle's drill factory," Harry explained. "I was really young, so I don't remember it, or most of the next week, actually, but I do remember a horrible burning, like my whole body was on fire. I found out later that I tripped, and ended up falling against the side of one of the crucibles. Something that hot, you just stick to it like it was burning glue. Took most of the skin off my chest and my right forearm, lucky I caught myself before my face hit. Then, those idiot 'emercgency medical technicians' just tried to peel me off, like pulling wings off a fly. Uncle said I nearly bled to death before they could get me properly wrapped up, not that he would've been terribly upset at that, either. Then they nearly killed me again just trying to put in an IV. One of the idiots 'accidentally' slit my wrist nearly to the bone!"

"That's..." Ron couldn't finish his statement, looking quite green.

"Bet that left a scar," Fred said gently.

"Which is why you came up here to shower after practice," George added.

Harry merely nodded his head. "It's pretty gruesome. Years later and I still have to close my eyes while I shower. It's lucky I don't remember it at all, and I was so drugged I don't remember regrowing all my skin. I'd probably have nightmares otherwise." He took a deep breath and rolled up one sleeve to his elbow. "My arm came out okay, mostly. There's still some patches that're off color, but it's not so bad." A few lines of scar tissue crossed near his wrist, with a longer line running from his palm up to the hollow of his elbow, and blotches of paler skin dotted the underside of his arm. "Better than the rest, anyway."

Neville frowned. "A wizard would have cast a freezing charm on the crucible, to cool it down before they pulled you away. You'd still be badly burned, but it wouldn't be that bad."

Harry rolled his sleeve back down. "Can we stop talking about it now?" He motioned to a stack of books on his desk. "I should get started reading for my extra lessons. Care of Magical Creatures is on Saturday, and I want to be prepared."

Fred and George put their hands on the shoulders of the other first years. "You heard the man, he's got a lot of reading to do," they said in stereo.

Harry nodded his thanks, and said, "If you leave that mop, you can use it to know when it's time for dinner."

The Gryffindors filed out, each wondering just how much they really knew about the Boy Who Lived.

.o0O0o.

With a minor improvement in his wandwork now that he had learned to ignore the sensations in his chest, Harry's second week at Hogwarts passed easily enough, except for one class. Arriving early for Potions, Harry found Snape already inside, waiting. Fortunately, he was also alone. Harry put his things on his table, and walked to Snape's desk. He'd had some suspicions about the man and the way he taught, and it was time to see if he was correct. "Sir, may I ask a question?"

Snape sneered, but replied, "Make it short, Potter."

"Please understand, I mean this with all due respect to your position as a Professor, but I am a bit confused. Are you teaching us Potions theory, or merely practical brewing?" Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Encouraged, Harry continued, "Because you see, sir, I was helping Ronald Weasley with his essay, and he didn't understand why we had to grind the ash root into powder. I thought perhaps the theory was something wizards learned at home, but he didn't seem to know either. And some of our classmates have apparently never even watched a potion being brewed by an expert, and they do not know how to even prepare the ingredients."

"Your point, Mister Potter?"

"Er, it's just that if we were only learning the practicals, wouldn't it be useful to demonstrate the proper methods for preparing various ingredients? How fine is 'finely sliced', for example? And if we were supposed to be learning theory, why haven't you given a lecture on the properties of the ingredients?"

Snape's sneer became a frown. "Properly brewing potions is difficult enough for most first years, let alone understanding them. As to the practical, a properly dedicated wizard should already know how to follow directions, no matter how idiotic the wizard may be. However, I have always provided supplementary instruction to those who ask for it."

Harry blinked owlishly. "Has a non-Slytherin ever asked, sir? I gather the Hufflepuffs think you would rather eat them, to hear them talk."

"I do not recall." The frown deepened.

"Then may I ask if you teach potions theory in later years? It sounds quite interesting from what I've read in the textbooks."

"At the N.E.W.T. level only, when students may have become intelligent enough to understand it. Now return to your seat. Class will begin soon." Snape turned back to the papers he was grading, and Harry walked back to his table. When the Gryffindors came in, Harry motioned for a group huddle. "Listen, Snape says he gives remedial lessons to people who ask for them. If you've been having trouble, go up and ask him."

Neville shook his head. "No way Harry, I'm not sitting extra lessons with him."

"Oh come on, Neville, he's not that bad! Now get to your seats before he docks points."

At the end of the lesson, Seamus and Dean went up to Snape's desk to hand in their potions. Harry slowed his packing so he could hear them better.

"Uhm, Professor Snape, sir? We were wondering if we could get some remedial tutoring?" Dean asked. "You haven't given us a 'passable' on any of the three potions we've done so far."

Snape frowned at them. "And you expect me to give up my already limited free time to tutor you?"

Seamus frowned back. "Isn't that what teachers are supposed to do? Teach?"

"Five points from Gryffindor for your sarcasm, Finnegan." Unfortunately, the boy was right, and even Snape couldn't weasel out of a direct request for tutoring, much as he disliked teaching people who didn't take his course seriously. "Tommorrow night directly after dinner at five-thirty. If you are late, you will not be given the option to ask again. Bring whomever else you like, I would prefer to give this lesson as few times as possible. Now leave."

Harry smiled inwardly, though he didn't let it show on his face. He joined Seamus and Neville in the hall. "So, getting lessons are we?"

Neville nodded. "I hope it helps."

"Don't be stupid, Neville, it's unbecoming," Harry chided. "You did a bang-up job in Herbology, and that's half of potions right there, knowing what something does when you put it in! And if you're still having trouble after tomorrow, I'll start tutoring in the common room after dinner, okay?"

"Thanks, Harry. You're the only person who isn't a Slytherin that's gotten a pass so far, I heard a couple 'puffs talking during Herbology."

Harry reddened in embarassment. "Come on you two, we've got to get to our next class."

.o0O0o.

After word had spread, every Non-Slytherin first year--and more than a few second and third years--had applied for Remedial Potions. Snape was forced to give his lecture in the Great Hall, and with the size of the group, Professor Sprout and Madame Pomfrey arrived to help 'supervise', though in reality, they were making sure Snape actually did a good job by pointing out when he had skipped part of an explanation.

Harry noticed a lot more confidence in the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff first-years after their next Potions lesson, which was all good as far as he was concerned. However, Harry had other matters to occupy his time. Hedwig had dropped off a stack of books for him during lunch on Moday, and Harry spent the rest of his spare time reading through the books for his first Care of Magical Creatures class.

Professor Kettleburn was a fairly stern man, missing his left forearm and his right foot. One of his ears had a chunk missing near the top, and he had scars everywhere. The first words out of his mouth when Harry met him in the front courtyard were, "'Less you want to end up like me, you pay attention and you do as I say. Some of the things we'll be working with are dangerous even when treated carefully, so expect to end up staying overnight in the Hospital Wing if you screw around." In his hands was a short willow switch which appeared to double as a pointing rod.

With an audiable gulp, Harry nodded his agreement. "As you say, Professor."

"Good. We're going to start with some of the less dangerous things for this term. In fact, today's lesson is fairly simple. We're going to study Owls. I understand you own one, a Snowy Owl. First thing to know about owls, is they have some unique magic of their own. Unless a person is specially warded, an owl will always be able to find that person, no matter where they are. When you send someone a letter, you just write their name on it, and it should arrive to them eventually, right?"

"Er, I suppose so sir. I haven't sent many letters by owl."

"On official mail, like Hogwarts letters, or Ministry paperwork, the address is done with a spell to make sure the right person receives it. You put the person's name on the envelope with a specially made ink and quill, and the rest of the address fills itself in as the owl reaches its destination by reading the location the owl is flying toward from the owl's magic. Another piece of Owl magic is that certain breeds, like Snowy Owls, can sense the intent of their owners, so if you've got a window open, or you're outside, you can call them to you when you need to send a letter, or just want some company. Go ahead and try to call your owl, Potter." Harry opened his mouth to call for Hedwig, and received a light swat to the head courtesy the switch. "Not with your mouth! They sense intent, so ask with your mind."

Harry closed his eyes, and thought of Hedwig, wishing she would fly down to see him. There was a nearly silent rush of air, and when Harry opened his eyes, he found Hedwig fluttering in to land on his shoulder. She let out a soft hoot, and Harry stroked her head feathers in just the way she liked. "Thanks for coming, Hedwig."

"Verry good, Potter, very good." Kettleburn had a very small smile on his face. "Your owl likes you, that's good. Now, most owls understand human speech in the languages they're exposed to for their first year, so postal owls in particular are fledged by teams of people who speak the major languages of the world. If you ever get the notion to raise your own owls, remember that fact." Hedwig hooted indignantly, and Kettleburn raised an eyebrow. "One of the smarter ones, aren't you, Hedwig?" At Hedwig's nod, he went on. "If your little lovely will oblige us, we'll finish this lecture with a bit of owl anatomy, then you can send your owl back up to the owlrey and we'll head inside to talk about different breeds, their natural habitats, and their hunting tactics."

Hedwig graciously consented to being poked at for a few minutes, where the Creatures teacher explained the different types of feathers and how they helped owls fly silently, and how owl necks could turn nearly all the way around. Once Hedwig had returned to her normal perch in the owlrey, Kettleburn led Harry inside for another hour talking about the more mundane aspects of owls.

.o0O0o.

The next week was more of the same. Harry was getting better at improvising around Oliver's Chaser plays, to the point where Oliver had decided it might be best for Harry to use the mobility provided by his new broom--his Nimbus 2000 had arrived at breakfast of the day of practice--and just appear at designated locations rather than try to flow with the plays Oliver had designed for the original trio of chasers to use that year. Katie was getting to be a pretty good seeker, and during pratice that week Harry and Katie had a brief competition for the snitch. After Harry pulled off a prefect Wronski Feint, leaving Katie nearly smashed into the ground, Katie began playing more agressively. She ended up missing the snitch by a fingertip after Harry-who needed both hands on his broom to control the sudden accelleration--ended up catching the snitch in his mouth, biting down on it to keep it from escaping. "The rulebook doesn't say how you have to catch it, just that you do," Harry said when Katie had cried foul. Oliver had agreed, and dismissed them while he thought up ways to use that idea to his advantage.

There were no accidents that week in potions among the first years, and the only person who didn't get at least a pass was Ron, who had gotten angry at a comment from malfoy and neglected to shred one of his ingredients properly. Snape hadn't shown it, but he was impressed with the improvement in quality, and had sneeringly suggested that perhaps all first years should get a mandatory lesson in preparation if they were all so stupid that it was making them fail. After all, he had an image to maintain!

In Charms, Harry managed an Alohomora on his second try, opening his cast-iron deadbolt lock with relative ease. He was also the second one in class to do so, after Hermione. The burning sensations his magic caused him had now become more minor, but Harry was unsure if that was just his Merlin signet doing the work or him getting better at casting. He had also managed a decent transfiguration spell, turning a beetle into a button. Defense left him more drained than usual, as Quirrel had been slinking around the classroom while they took a short quiz on Trolls, and Harry had developed a headache to accompany the warmth in his chest he always felt while Quirrel was in proximity to him. 

Herbology was spent studying Kraken Weed, which Harry had begun to loathe. The plant had again tried to choke him to death, and it had taken Neville and Ron both to pry the plant off him. Harry had spent the rest of the day massaging his throat, though it hadn't even bruised. History of Magic later in the day was a joke, as Binns droned on about goblin wars while Harry read his textbook. At dinner that night, he commented to Hermione, "Less than a quarter of the book is about goblins, but from what I hear that's all the crazed ghost talks about! You think maybe that's why he's stuck here? He's forgotten the rest of his lesson plans and can't move on until he remembers and teaches a proper year?" Hermione looked scandalized for a moment, before becoming thoughtful and saying, "You may have a point, Harry."

Eventually, Saturday arrived, and with it, the next of Harry's new classes. Professor Bathsheda Babbling was like a younger version of McGonagall, right down to the stern expression. When Harry entered her classroom, she said nothing, merely waiting for him to sit down at the nearest desk. After he had arranged his parchment and self-inking quill, the Professor finally turned her attention to Harry.

"Runes," she began, "are the core of permanent enchanting, warding, and powerful spellcasting. Even the most minor charms--like Wingardium Leviosa--can be represented as runes. Carved into stone, bone, or wood, a rune can turn an ordinary object into a powerful weapon or a nigh unbreakable shield. But, there is a reason we use runes and not modern letters. Why is that, Mister Potter?"

"The current theory is that true runes represent primal ideas and powers, and were born by magic from the first languages of man. Since the only usable runic languages are the Norse Futhark, ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, Celtic symbols, parts of the ancient Greek alphabet, and Eastern ideograms, all some of the oldest written languages in the world, this theory has been largely accepted by the wizarding world."

"Correct, though you neglected to mention the native peoples of the Americas, specifically Mayan and Incan runes. Why these symbols, and no others, is a question better left to researchers. Most of the hard work in Runes is memorizing the shapes and their meanings, and will occupy most of your studies in the subject through your O.W.L.s. It is at the N.E.W.T. level that we would normally begin using those runes to form simple wardstones and spell anchors. Open your text to page forty-seven and we will begin our work with Egyptian runes. Normally I would start a third-year student with the more useful Norse runes, but I think a better understood system will be an easier start given your age." She waited patiently while Harry opened his textbook, and began lecturing. "Now, this pictogram represents the self..."

.o0O0o.

Another Saturday, another class. Harry had convinced Oliver to move practice to this morning, since the Boy Who Lived would be out late in the Forbidden Forest with the centaurs. Practice had gone well enough, but now Harry was waiting in the front courtyard for his escort into the forest as the sun settled below the horizon and the stars began to shine more brightly. A lantern light came bobbing up the path to the castle, and the massive figure it illuminated could only be Hagrid. Harry smiled at the thought. Hagrid was a bit slow, and his size skewed his perspective a bit, but the man had a heart of gold and a demeanor to match. Even now, the huge Gamekeeper was smiling in his jolly way.

"All righ' there, Harry?"

"It's a bit chilly, but I'll manage. I put on my warmest clothes for tonight."

Hagrid nodded happily. "Good thinkin' lad. Now, I'm ter escort yeh tonight, but only ter the edge o' the centaur's clearing, righ? Yeh needs ter be on yer best behavior now, them centaurs are a mite stiff and formal, an' they don' usually like wizards. Dumbledor says they agreed ter teach yeh, and tha's the first time in centuries they so much as thought about teachin' a wizard." He motioned with the lamp. "Best we get movin' now, don' wanna keep 'em waitin'."

The centaurs, as it turned out, didn't live far from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, but they were well around the side from where Hogwarts stood. Hagrid elected to take the more direct route, being as it was mostly near the outskirts and the more dangerous things were in deeper. The walk was rather uneventful, and Harry tried to imagine he was stalking through the woods at the summer camp he had gone to a year ago, when Mrs. Figg had been to ill to take him in while the Durselys went on vacation. Vernon had declared that it was cheaper than bringing Harry along with them, and it would keep the boy out of their hair while they relaxed. The fact that he had already paid for the camp and had wanted to send Dudley, who had thrown a fit at being sent out without television or video games, was never discussed. Harry's apparent dejection at being sent off to the woods for a week had cemented the plan in Vernon's mind. The stupid walrus had never figured out just how good Harry had gotten at acting depressed and listless when he'd realized that it got him occasional treats.

"'Ere we are, Harry." Hagrid's low voice broke Harry out of his remeniscing. Facing them from the edge of a largish clearing was a Centaur, his chestnut brown coat shining in the light of Hagrid's lamp. His pale blue eyes were narrowed against the bright lantern, and his silvering hair was shorn close to his head. Behind him were many, many more centaurs, each with a bow and a quiver arrows loosly strapped to their human backs with what looked to be braided vines. Recalling Hagrid's earlier warnings, Harry sketched his best bow, and spoke clearly but quietly, "My name is Harry Potter. I am honored to have the opportunity to learn from such wise and noble persons." He raised his eyes slightly to see the centaur's reaction. 

The lead Centaur inclined his head, and said, "You may rise, youngling." Harry did so, looking into the elder Centaur's eyes. "I am called Magorian, and I am leader of this herd. As we did for Merlin's students in ages past, so shall we endeavor to teach you of the world beyond your eyes." Turning slightly, he said to the large man behind Harry, "You are known to us, Hagrid, but these secrets are not for you to learn. We will escort the boy to your home when his lesson is done. In the future, one of us will meet him at your home when it is time for his lesson."

Hagrid nodded, his smile looking a bit strained. "Aye, righ' enough. I'll just be gettin' on then."

Magorian shook his head sadly as Hagrid turned away. When the gamekeeper was out of earshot and the light of his lantern gone from the clearing, Magorian intoned, "Now, young apprentice, we shall begin with your lessons. Come this way." The centaur herd trotted off, while Magorian and another with piebald markings on his equine half moved to the center of the clearing, which revealed a brilliantly clear swath of nighttime sky.

"Firenze is one of our best sky readers," Magorian told Harry, motioning to the other Centaur in the clearing. "He will handle the majority of your lessons, and escort you to and from this place. Do not wander, for the Forest at night is quite dangerous. If you prove a dilligent student, I will personally take over your lessons in the more advanced readings, and the magic required to perform them." Magorian's tone lowered, and he spoke softly, "And a word of caution. Some of our herd believes it folly to uphold our old promise to Merlin, who granted us this place where we could remain apart for all time. Be wary, but resectful." And with that, Magorian trotted away.

Harry looked to his new teacher, and said, "Where shall we begin?"

Firenze turned his gaze skyward, eyes somewhat unfocused. "Since your arrival, Mars has been brightening, brighter than it has been in a decade. We shall begin with that sign of conflict, the Planet of Fire. But before we can interpret what its presence and position mean, we must first be able to find it."

Harry gazed upward, scanning the sky. They'd had a few astronomy lessons so far, but without a telescope it was hard to pick out individual specks. "How do we do that, sir?"

"Centaurs do not hold with titles, Harry. Please use my name." Harry could have sworn there was a ghost of a smile on the Centaur's face, but it passed too quickly to be sure.

"Very well, Firenze. How do we find specific planets and recognize them?"

"Centaurs have been studying the skies for time out of mind, Harry. We have our own magics, and with them we have charted every star, every planet, and every comet that can be seen. Foals begin studying the positions and charts as soon as they can speak. Fortunately for you, we also record everything our herd does, and when Merlin charged us with instructing his students in Astrology, he showed us a spell which would aid us in teaching the young wizards who had no prior experience with stargazing." Reaching into a pouch at his human waist, Firenze retrieved a thick scroll. "You will not be allowed to rely on this forever, Harry, but it will help you become more easily aquianted with the sky. Hold the scroll in your left hand, and with your right, slide your wand along the edge while incanting, 'caelum aperio.'"

Harry did so, ignoring the warmth spellcasting caused, and was astonished when the sky above him suddenly became covered in lines and text. "What happened?"

"The scroll you hold is a copy of our master sky charts. The spell transfers the information on the chart into your mind, so that you can see it in the sky. Now, focus on Mars."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, thinking of the name of the fourth planet, and its rust-red color. When he opened his eyes, the mass of lines and text were gone, but a bright red dot hovered in the sky with the word "Mars" in flowing script next to it. "That's a very versatile spell."

Firenze nodded ever so slightly. "The scroll is yours to keep. You will not get a replacement if it is lost or damaged, so take good care of it. The spell, however, is keyed to the scroll, so this will not work with other documents." Kneeling to lay on the grass, Firenze continued, "And now that we have found it, let us discus the properties of Mars."

.o0O0o.

As Firenze walked Harry back to Hagrid's small cabin, the sounds of the night forest echoed around them. The stars had provided plenty of light back in their clearing, but here under the leaves it was hard to find his way. He contemplated casting a Lumos spell to help light his way, but Firenze was having no difficulty, so he continued onward, stumbling over the occasional root.

As they reached the edge of the forest, Firenze suddenly halted. "Harry," he said quietly, with no emotion, "though the stars do not predict individual lives, I feel I must caution you. Danger will soon sweep over this land, and when the time comes, you must make use of the gift Merlin has left for you. Keep it with you always, but never, ever, reveal it unless the situation is dire."

Harry's eyes widened in the darkness. "You mean, you know about my spare wand?"

"The stars are not the only way we centaurs have of seeing what is to come," Firenze replied. "We study our histories as well, to see how events tend to lead to results. Merlin left us a message for his heir, and told us how we would know him. 'The one who bears the mark of my House shall carry the last of my bane, and with it shall he triumph over his enemies, if only he does not use it except when all else is lost. Then shall his truth be known.' Take care, young Harry. Evil has come to the forest, and Mars shines brightly in the sky. And for one such as you, who has been marked by stars, fates, and men, conflict will not be far behind." And with that, Firenze vanished into the forest, leaving Harry to make his way to Hagrid's cabin, lost in thought.

.o0O0o.

Author's Notes:

Honestly, I don't much like this chapter, but I needed a transition and some explanation of what occurs in this area before I could really move on to more interesting plot. That, and I also wanted to cement the version of Snape in this work as someone who simply dislikes children, and prefers the somewhat more mature behavior of the harshly-disciplined members of his own house. If I thought I could get away with just skipping to Halloween and the Troll incident, I would, but that would never work. Too much happens in the first months of school to completely gloss over it.

I also admit to having quite a bit of writer's block, along with needing to do some actual research into astrology. All that research revealed is that astrology is confusing as hell, and so I altered my plan for that scene.

We know so very little about the electives at Hogwarts other than Creatures and Diviniation, both of which suffer from teachers who are not particularly suited for what they teach (Trelawney is cracked, and Hagrid's too large to understand what 'dangerous' means). So there won't be a whole lot of scenes involving Arithmancy or Creatures in the future, Runes may get a scene or two, and Astrology will likely be glossed over a bit more. In any event, I'm not going to cover every single day of school, so expect a lot more timejumps as the first-year arc continues.

I was reluctant to add the scene where Harry reveals why he hates doctors, but I felt something had to be said so I wouldn't have to deal with injuries and whatnot sending Harry into a panic and his friends being confused about it. Plus, it illustrates Harry's (incorrect) interpretation of what Vernon did to him as a toddler.

Hopefully the next chapter flows a bit better, as we get more into the main plot again. Next time in Null Signature: Halloween's here, and a familiar scene is about to play out once again. But wait, what's got Dumbledore all concerned, and why is Harry in the Hospital Wing if he hates it so much? 


End file.
